


Million Dollar Men

by zialless



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Married Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 19:41:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3822457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zialless/pseuds/zialless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So it was goodbye to his family, goodbye to Morocco, and hello Nice and Zayn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Million Dollar Men

**Author's Note:**

> Hiii. So, lol - I don't wanna tell you what kind of AU this is. Some of you may already know, but I don't wanna spoil it for the rest. You'll catch what kind of AU it is at the end. I'll make a note of it so I don't get sued, lol. I'm surprised no one has done it. It's a pretty good AU, lots of tension (: But yo, f*ck my smut writing f'real.
> 
> Anyway, I think I'm on a roll with posting fics. I've worked on this for about a year (I like to go back and forth on a lot of my work). No Beta. I'm sorry! I tried my best. Also, excuse my French. I just apologize everything here tbh. I just wanted to post this for some time now.
> 
> Title has no relation to Lana Del Rey's Song, Million Dollar Men.
> 
> Talk to me: zaynsnextdoor.tumblr.com

  
Niall can't remember when he was ever happy since this gold ring has been put around his finger. Marriage isn't everything like everyone says it would be. If it was the shit, then Niall wouldn't find their relationship to be mundane. It's Saturday night, and he's eating oven-baked pizza by himself on the couch, watching a ridiculous romantic comedy called, _When in Rome._  
  
He reminisces the old days where he can travel without a burden on his back. And by burden, he means this ring that translates to him being bonded to Zayn forever (not unless he gets killed, then it'll break of course).  
  
Rome was his 17th city to visit, under the contract to kill a man under the alias, Cesare Borgia. Obviously Italian born, he ran a high profile case of drug smuggling in Sicily that has affected his high-paying client in Amsterdam. A bounty hung on his head for $200,000 American, and hung it like he did. And it was probably the last mission he went on that allowed him to go abroad before he got married.  
  
Niall has been recognized as the best contract killer for the last few years by agents who he's been working under in this private organization. Young but determined, starting trouble at 16 when he considered himself lone when his parents had kicked him out of the house. He made a little of his own business in Morocco when he was in the middle of moving around in Europe to find a suitable place to live far from his parents in Ireland where they wouldn't have a chance of redemption.  
  
Thanks to having a charismatic skill and the ability to learn languages faster than the next guy, he was able to get around Morocco without a problem, especially regarding how white he is—they'd jump on anyone who's a tourist. Niall wasn't there for the sights, merely jobs that would keep food on tables that weren't even his. Nobody understood that until a pickpocketing scheme turned around against them, led to a few of the guys trying to snatch Niall's load satchel with broken fingers.  
  
Opportunities rose from that mishap, and the solo business of his began, doing more errands and intimidation than actual killing and torture he never have thought to have begun. No one really wanted anyone dead until Niall had fallen into a wrong group of people who seemed just about right at the time.  
  
He loved Morocco that he stayed in Casablanca until 20 with a family who had welcomed him in when he was hiding from a bunch of crooks who hated Niall for knowing their scam around Marrakech and infiltrated their web and followed him into the city.  
  
Before everything was turned into a commercialized structure, Niall was real happy living without luxury or really high income all at once. His income was enough to give back to his family but not enough to do it a hundred times so until this European embassy down in Rabat had hired him to work as their ‘unskilled’ assassin who had more talent than the girl at the top which led to him being at the top right after five or less contracts.  
  
To stay with that job, he was required to live a persona of someone safe like some baker or teacher and live somewhere totally safe and not in Morocco where people knew very much of him.  
  
So it was goodbye to his family, goodbye to Morocco, and hello Nice and Zayn.  
  
If he knew how prosaic being married to Zayn would be seven years ago, he wouldn't have accepted to dance with him at the charity ball that was held at the Louvre.  
  
Maybe he would have just for some leverage but nothing more past a date. In which, it never happened once, but many times.  
  
That night nearly killed him, more than the chances he had going on this covert assassination contract in Sao Paolo his client and him only knew about. Not even his agency knew. It was probably the worst mission he ever went.  
  
He was guessing it might've been the hair strand falling over to his face, or how he looked in a suit that night but it wasn't. He still looks exactly fit 'till today. Nothing's changed.  
  
Niall that night planned to only stay long enough to pick up Intel on his target for his client who was eager for her to be dead. Niall didn't exactly know why but if he was willing to pay $400,000 for her to be dead—then so be it.  
  
Zayn has been keeping his eyes fairly well on Niall that night across the floor and he exactly knew that as well but didn't do anything about it. He should have killed him that night with the way he's looking so lascivious at him through the crowds of tables and people.  
  
It made him quite uneasy for the first time in years since his parents had disowned him. There was practically nothing he could do to avoid his stupid gaze being glued onto him. Intent like a hawk for its prey, Niall tried to avert from it. From time to time, he'd end up magnetizing right back to his pretty eyes in curiosity. Everybody knows, curiosity kills the cat.  
  
He remembers being stupid for not bringing along an escort so the attention wouldn't be around him about why a gentleman would come alone to such an evening. Zayn was an idiot as well—brought no one—thinking he can just end the night by picking up a date at the charity auction.  
  
Funny, it worked.  
  
Niall sat at the bar for one order of whiskey because the servers walking around with the champagne had gotten lazy and disappeared. It turned into four orders when Zayn joined, talking smoothly right through Niall's senses that Niall had forgotten all about his contract. His voice was thick like chocolate flowing under heat, and he had almost drowned in it hearing him at his ear when the music had drowned everything but his voice. They spoke en Français, figured it was romantic case to be meeting at an event like that _dans Le Lovure_ where it wasn't filled with tourists, but rich aristocrats with targets on their backs.  
  
It came to be the best thing he's ever heard until now; it's the most aggravating voice he could ever hear.  
  
Niall can't believe he fell for it all.  
  
When he hears the keys jangling, he pushes his plate to the coffee table, hastily kicking his feet up at the other end of the couch. He covers the blanket right up to his mouth, scrunching his face to the pillow to actually make it seem genuine that he's sleeping.  
  
He strains the air out of his nose, forcing himself to snore. Not loud but quite faint for his play to be believable. He can feel this wave of laughter coming in just thinking about how it will all play out. Good or bad, he doesn't quite care at all.  
  
Zayn's humming _The Girl From Ipanema_ , meaning he's in a good mood. That's the only thing Niall can ever assume from him anymore and be right about it.  
  
_"Voyons donc?"_ Zayn exasperates and Niall's forced to break character for a near second. What's he clamouring about? He just got home.  
  
He hears the remote slam down on the table and din TV conversation stop all at once, as he pushes his eyebrows in. Now he remembers how much it peeves him when he leaves the TV on if he's not watching a show.  
  
"Ni—" Zayn hisses, rubbing his face. "Shit."  
  
Niall shuffles, turning his body towards the back support of the couch. It's only real if he reacts.  
  
"Niall." Zayn drones when he gets in front of the couch, tapping Niall's shoulder, his knee on the couch while he stands on the other leg. He's undoing the cuffs of his button down as Niall looks over his shoulder, eyes glazed through the faking of his fatigue.  
  
"Welcome home. Even though it's twelve," he sighs groggily. "How was work?"  
  
"Good as usual. _Et toi_?"  
  
Niall sighs to another disappointing answer. " _Bien aussi_ , but tiring. Had a big project due at the gallery."  
  
"Great. What did you cook?"  
  
_Salope..._  
  
He grins, huffing in contempt. "Sorry to disappoint but I couldn't wait for you."  
  
Dinner was always at eight, and Niall would have everything set right at once Zayn was home. No waits or stalls—they go right through dinner. Niall hates dinner time.  
  
Zayn nods, unbuttoning his collar. "It's fine. I'm exhausted anyway." He sighs, sneering at the stairs. "I'll see you upstairs."  
  
He backs from the couch, grinning Niall down to get him to scorn, ignoring the blue around his pupil fading to anger. A familiar attempt Niall's tried all before with him—he's not going to be carrying him up to the bedroom like he wishes.  
  
Yes, Niall does everything at home—clean, cook, and somehow decorate. And yes, he deserves all the tender love and care that comes to the big responsibilities staying at home more than him. Would he like to show his appreciation? Sometimes, if Niall wasn't so keen on perfection. It's not OCD. It's to bug him to the core of his mind that he would prefer sleeping with the dozens of pillows Niall bought for the fucking bed. Half of them fall off the bed by 3 AM because Niall's always kicking them down. If he's pushing them all off the bed, why'd he fill the bed with them?  
  
That's what Zayn hates. He knows Niall sees these things online through blogs and sites. Someone as naive as him wouldn't have the mind to annoy him without the help of the internet. Especially, buying the most unnecessary things ever. Niall says the fine chinas are for special occasions like soirees. No one in France fucking does soirees anymore! But he just buys and buys, with his art money.  
  
He hates the house as well, but he'll stop at that. It's quite fair for him and Niall living 30 minutes away from the beaches of Nice, in a quiet neighbourhood with a simple house surrounded with foliage. No one would ever notice someone dying because of the surrounding trees. It's great!  
  
Hm... Great? Niall's words are really getting to him like they did when they first met. Smooth, criminal-like, cunning—he spoke so endearingly about the Christian-art paintings, _La belle ferronnière et La Vierge, l'Enfant Jésus et sainte Anne_ like he was there with Leonardo da Vinci himself. Technically, he couldn't be when those paintings were created late 15th century and early 16th century. He was fooled like the accent that the fucking jester had put on and fooled him with.  
  
He sat through the night, entertaining Niall _en Français_ —his fifth language after Arabic, Spanish, and English, Mandarin, and Urdu, thinking that lonely fuck was French. Lonely fuck seems too hostile; he was very fascinated with his skill to fly by conversation to conversation and kept the flow going. Even being too observant, it really caught against his neck.  
  
So he did find Niall really attractive that night.  
  
But enough of the bullshit—he had to stop himself from fucking Niall up in his penthouse when his stupid French accent twisted right into Irish when he was crying for more. He regrettably finds that night cute and romantic, given the opportunity to speak perfectly _en Français_ in the city of Paris when the two of them aren't exactly French at all. He continued to fuck him after, made his needy body writhe until he couldn't that he just had to lie there. Then he actually let him stay right into the afternoon, had room service wheel in breakfast (or lunch, whatever fits that moment) where they ate outside at the balcony with the view of the _tour eiffel_. Disgusting. Puke-worthy. Looking back—it was terribly cheesy.  
  
He can't believe he misses it.  
  
Overall, this was just too great, too boring, and too complex. Never mind good, exciting, and simple. It's all a mere lie. He knows what simplicity is and it's not a big house with rooms that don't have a purpose, and a semi-circular drive in with plants in the middle.

 

-

 

When he wakes up, Niall's not there. Like always, he'll be downstairs with breakfast already and coffee brewed in his maroon mug. Zayn won't have to prepare the milk and sugar when it's already been prepared by Niall. At least he's good for something.  
  
_"Je vais être en retard ce soir."_ Zayn prompts his arm on the island counter while he holds his mug, standing across to Niall.  
  
"Oh no!" Niall gushes, splitting the honeydew with the knife slicing through like cake, with a thorough crisp from each slice. Like he hasn't heard that excuse before.  
  
His sleight of hand couldn't be ignored—especially when the blue eyes were staring right into his soul, not even minding the blade slicing right beside his fingers.  
  
His knife work is reckless, smooth, and heart wrenching. Zayn’s heart is rushing, blood pumping everywhere on his face just watching Niall’s hand. When Niall gets angry, there’s no telling what he’d do. He pulls the knife up; Zayn could see his eyes reflecting off the face of the steel and he’s immediately leaning off the counter.  
  
"I-I'll try to make it home early!" Zayn speeds through his words. He almost sputtered when Niall had aimed it at him. But he stopped it. Thank god he stopped it.  
  
"Oh! That makes me so happy." Niall drones, slicing his knife right between—  
  
"Haha! I knew it would!" Zayn laughs shakily, reaching for the knife before Niall could get the idea of chopping his fingers off and taking him out on the way as well. This was one of the knives in the set that was imported straight from Japan—blades are sharp enough to cut through bones.  
  
"Don't you want any?" Niall slides honeydew cubes from the board into a bowl, picking one for himself.  
  
"Yeah, I'd like some. Thanks." Zayn peers down at the apple he's slicing a piece off with a 5-inch knife before he could pull the piece off the knife with his tongue into his mouth.  
  
All Niall could do is watch him slice his stupid apple and eat his stupid fruit. He's the one who loves honeydew in the morning or any time. As a matter of fact, Niall doesn't like honeydew no matter what fucking hour it is on the clock. All the things he does for him and all Zayn was interested in was testing his patience.  
  
If he's going to be like that, so can Niall. That's why they lived surrounded by trees and plants—no one would ever be able to notice from their window that he's blowing Zayn's head. No, not like that. With a .43 revolver he's got hidden everywhere around this house. Six shots, he would not go over using two bullets. That's a resolution right?  
  
Yes. A perfect resolution anyone would say, if they were all just as deranged as him. He can't kill Zayn—he wasn't a liar like he was. Out of anyone, he's actually the only one being honest around here. Head Co-ordinator for his Architectural company, managing the construction of houses—no one could be more honest than that. It's such a boring job.  
  
But he's not lying.  
  
"I'll see you tonight." Zayn twists the keys around his forefinger just as the two of them are walking out the door. He gives a quick kiss on his cheek; meaningless on Niall’s end when their last kiss was two weeks ago, _on the cheek._  
  
"Don't be late." Niall sighs, lulling when he gets into his car. He wants nothing more than having time away from Zayn. His ten hour shift at work doesn't even comply with what he wants. He's just so selfish and it's not the kind people think.  
  
Niall always wanted to be around with Zayn—have his sorry ass dragged by him everywhere he went. Until that day came where something broke between them and the both of them wanted nothing more than to be apart by working their asses off.  
  
With Niall, it's actually quite easy and fun.  
  
When Niall gets into his car, he isn't really going to work like Zayn thinks all the time. Having contracts meant you had to get the job done. Niall's doing his best with that.  
  
Today, he's having a putt or two at the _Verts de Champion_ with his target. It will be the most fun he'll have this entire week.  
  
"That was quite near!" Niall laughs, flattening his fingers to hover over his brow when he looks over the hill. It's at least two yards from their starting point.  
  
Jacque Hamilton is four of the five people he's been assigned to eliminate. It's $100,000 for each head. So far, Niall's looking to see how much longer it'll be until they're able to be alone. _Verts de Champion_ is the most pretentious golf clubs just on the outskirts of Nice that many people visit. Not to even play golf—they buy the membership there to sit at the balcony with Stella Artola pints et mange les baguettes avec prosciutto, fromage suisse, et des tomates. At least Jacque plays golf. Well.  
  
"It's all in the wrist." He snarks at Niall. Quite the contrary when he's rotating his shoulders. _"Allons là-bas!"  
_  
This is it.  
  
Their golf hole is a few walks away, deep down the hill where the country club can't see them anymore. It's quite good.  
  
_"Je suis trés fatigue. Je n'ai pas dormi la nuit dernière."_ Jacque groans, digging his fingers in the corner of his eyes. _"La femme et moi, Il dort dans une semaine la première fois."  
_  
Niall huffs. He and his wife haven't slept together since a week ago! Quite a suffering it must be not to sleep with a spouse in a week. All those 7 days before he could fuck his wife again... Horrible! Just unfair!  
  
_"Je n'ai pas coucher avec mon mari en quatre ans!"_ Niall scorns at Jacque before trudging down the hill with their putters. _"Une semaine... Ce n'est rien!"_  
  
"Poor you, my friend."  
  
"Poor me." Niall huffs.  
  
Poor me? Not for long.  
  
Niall stretches the putter club to Jacque's ball, pointing for Jacque's sorry ass. As he walks towards it, Niall hooks the face of his club right over his ankle, pulling him to fall face up. He kneels down above his head, feet over his hand while his knee of the other leg pins Jacque's other hand, draining the air flow of his neck with the neck of the club. Feet thrashing, eyes bulging, hands trying to pull from the pressure—it's all useless because Niall's pushing down, hearing the trachea cracking from the pressure.  
  
Niall grits his teeth while the dying body begins to squirm. He hates when they squirm for freedom—you're dead, babe. Why bother trying? Just relax because eventually—just like Jacque—they will.  
  
Niall eases his pull against the neck of the club, lifting himself to look at the rolled-back eyes, gaping mouth, with a bruised throat. With a broken trachea, and now—a broken neck, he's confirmed dead. Four down, one to go.  
  
Clean and simple—well, at least that's simple for him. No one can do what he can at the age of 28. This was some fucked up skill no child at 17 would know how to do unless they were Niall himself—fending one's self for food and safety in the streets of Casablanca. And he's not an idiot. All these Hollywood films he's watched where they killer chokes the guy until he's not breathing—it would never fucking work. A place full of people like a country club, there's be a high chance someone would come by and find this breathless and unconscious body and begin CPR. He almost forgot about that—he's always choked his victims in isolation or supervised. If that's not an option, he's got 3 minutes until the brain can't survive from oxygen anymore, and 10 minutes before the victim's brain dead.  
  
This happens every day. Does he feel bad that he's killed 260 targets? No. His sympathy is gone since he's walked out into the world.  
  
He rolls the body down by the pond, figured that the water would clean any kind of traces of DNA. He brings both his and Jacque's putters back, rubbing the shaft of the instrument. There's a slight smudge that indicates an obvious struggle against it.  
  
Dinner time; sad to say Zayn actually made it home early.  
  
"How was work?" Zayn asks full of dull emotion that Niall wants to admit to Zayn that he killed someone which makes him his 261 target today just to liven their moods through this fucking dinner.  
  
"Killer." Like he always says.  
  
"Pass the salt." Zayn says with a stuffed mouth. He doesn't care at all.  
  
"Um..." Niall scoffs. "I wasn't quite finished."  
  
"Yeah, yeah. I'll hear you out in a minute, but pass the salt."  
  
"It's right there. In the middle, Zayn."  
  
Zayn rolls his eyes when he gets up. "Thanks..."  
  
Niall glaring as always, he's watching Zayn shake the salt over the _maquereau caramélisé_ —again and again and again... It's like he really wants high blood. The salt would nearly kill escargots, and have them shrivel into nothing with that much sprinkling over his plate. Quite a disgusting sight.  
  
"Is there a problem?" Zayn grins, tapping the shaker over continuously.  
  
"No, no. Please." Niall shakes his head, biting his teeth over his fork. What a fucking husband.  
  
Niall didn't finish his story about 'work', and he didn't attempt at all. Being alone with Zayn in bed won't even pull him into the idea of ever talking to him about work. Why does he even try?  
  
"G'night. Long day." Niall turns his lamp off. The last contract tomorrow. It will be a very long day.  
  
Pietro Avan would be his hardest one victim to eliminate from the list. The isolation he'll ever get from the city would be tomorrow is a Friday. Those days are his fishing days in Cannes. Just a day trip that he can make very quickly and come home in time for dinner. It's a much more distinguished assassination Niall has to make with Avan. His hirer even flagged his profile for high importance. And Niall's gotta save the best for last. In fact, if he doesn't get Avan—he doesn't get paid. But that won't be a problem with his influence.  
  
"Zayn, please..." Niall looks over his shoulder, blinded by the illuminating lamp Zayn is supposed to turn off as well.  
  
"I'm not finished." Zayn flips to a new page in his book and Niall huffs at his inconsideration. "Turn away, then."  
  
How about you just turn the fucking lights off? Niall couldn't believe how inconsiderate he's being. For all the times he's treated him so unruly—this isn't the top. This was just the breaking point.  
  
"And where are you going?" Zayn drones, watching Niall kick the blankets off him.  
  
" _En bas_ , 'cause I can't even sleep in my own fucking bedroom." Niall huffs, clutching two of his pillows. Two of them because one was for his head and the second—it's worth hugging more than Zayn.  
  
Just for that, he's leaving the TV on for Zayn to come by in the morning.

 

-

  
  
A fishing trip along the coast and Niall brings instead, a runabout. It's not a regular runabout—at least it’s better than a dinghy. It’s equipped with heavy data enough to obliterate Avan gone and feed the fish with his flesh in a very inconspicuous boat. It's a great plan.  
  
His earpiece starts to static. "Systems are ready. You may proceed."  
  
"Good to know..." Niall hums, twisting the silencer in the pistol.  
  
"Bonjour!" Niall perks up when Avan is waving from the tip of his sail boat and yelling at him. He drops his gun, immediately waving right back.  
  
_"Pris rien aujourd'hui?"_ Niall exclaims over to Avan who's sailing across.  
  
_"Non!"_  
  
You will be catching something today right between your eyes.  
  
Niall spots a yacht just behind him from his mirror—10 feet tall, sailing behind about a few paces away. There's a lad standing at the nose of the boat. He can't quite make out the face through his binoculars because—  
  
That's a gun.  
  
He recoils forward when the bullet lodges in his shoulder. This must be some rookie shooting a rifle when he's two miles away.  
  
Niall pulls his sniper out, not spending his time on the aiming. Especially when he sees the lad bending down. And it couldn't be! A grenade launcher? Is he insane?  
  
He's not staying, not if he wants to die. He abandons the boat last minute, diving unarmed before his boat ends in floating rubble.  
  
Niall turns to the next boat because Avan's yelling from his boat, but he's not yelling because of the grenade launcher this lad was just holding. Now it's a SMG.  
  
One by one, one after the other, he was spraying bullets at Niall, making guesses to where he had swam off. He couldn't have gotten far because of his shoulder. The pain of the salt and his open wound was killing him—never did he like missions involving stupidity like this. He was swimming with barely a free arm, and eventually had found himself away from the scene—clinging around a rock along the coast as if his life depended on it.  
  
Avan's boat is very intact that he's gone from the scene. Niall's fuelling deathly in rage about this asshole ruining everything. All five targets could've been finished today by now if it wasn't for that yacht-sailing fuck.  
  
All his guns are gone, even his favourite sniper rifle and he's wet in his clothes.  
  
The only clothes he brought.  
  
It was supposed to be a clean and swift kill.  
  
Until that deranged fool with the yacht interfered, shot him in the shoulder, and almost blew his face off.  
  
He wasn't a hired client but Niall's sure as hell he's next. He'll get his $400,000; it doesn't matter if it's not all that he promised because he didn't kill Avan. He could kill Avan right now if he wanted to get the $500,000 instead. Money’s not a priority right now. No, he's going to kill the other fuck who thinks he knows what he's doing.  
  
Just not now.

-

  
Niall shoves the stupid pie from the local bakery into his fridge. The only thing he brought back from that fucking assignment was his throwing knife set. These throwing knives are constructed with solid tempered 420 stainless steel, with jet-black finishing and perfectly balanced weighting. He could crack a coconut open if he wanted to with these.  
  
He puts his set back in his hidden compartment of the cabinet—all except one and pulls out his desert eagle and sets off to his room to sleep. Never did he like to sleep with weapons beside him. But he had to fix the bullet lodged in his shoulder first.  
  
When the time comes, Niall tucks them under his bedside table and snugs back to sleep.  
  
"Oh, you're home." Niall peeks, seeing Zayn storm into their room. Early as well.  
  
"Had trouble at work." Zayn begins to undo the tie around his neck.  
  
"What kind?" Niall lifts his eyebrow.  
  
"Someone lit up the house... Have to restart everything." Zayn rubs his face, fingers reaching the roots of his hair.  
  
"Well... You're bleeding." Niall strains out very coldly as he turns away from Zayn's direction. Good. You're already dying before I've done anything, Niall thinks.  
  
Zayn glares at Niall from the mirror when there’s that tone he always loves. "Mind not kicking the pillows down? I'm always picking it up."  
  
Niall lifts his head, looking over his shoulder at Zayn who continues glaring. "Oh, sorry. Maybe later."  
  
"Like the hell you are." Zayn snaps, sliding his tie from his collar before he slaps it on the table.  
  
Niall turns his body upright, smirk growing on his face. This is just what fuels Niall to wanting to leave the house sometimes. "Beg your pardon? I didn't hear you."  
  
"What don't you hear these days?" Zayn raises his eyebrows while he stares at himself in the mirror.  
  
It's not Niall's fault his ears are blown. It was the grenades that made him partially deaf but shouldn't be something to blame. No. Of course Zayn's not blaming grenades and gunfire. He's just looking for something to blame on Niall.  
  
"Are you trying to imply something?" Niall angles his head to the left, remembering his desert eagle has about 8 shots right now and his precision aim with knives could really do wonders.  
  
"I've barely said anything." Zayn says, more around pointing the obvious than whining like a child for it.  
  
"I know you have a lot to say so let's go."  
  
To make himself comfortable, Niall sets a second pillow behind his head, throwing his arms behind his head as he waits for Zayn to prepare something for this occasion. They've got a lot on each other between these years. Various flaws hidden in a chest, ready for the taking like Pandora's Box. Legs shoulder width apart; it initiates something to click from Zayn to come walking over, glaring right in Niall's bones. Shirtless, Niall sees bruises on his body—telling him that Zayn might've been caught in the fire.  
  
Wouldn't it be burns?  
  
"Thanks, babe. I really do." Niall clicks back to Zayn's attention when his hand slides right into the blanket to Niall's inner thigh. His other hand pulls the pen hanging out of his pocket, tossing it on his bedside table. Niall doesn't know why Zayn clips his pen from the outside—thinks he's some sort of genius.  
  
He hasn't felt anything like this stirring his nerves since that hot _sonovabitch_ model he had to kill.  
  
His fingers are deadly close to his crotch. The emitting warmth from his hands was already getting to him. He didn't have to touch just to get something going on. The anticipation of it was just unfolding. It’s four years that they haven't had sex? It feels infinite. What does Zayn even feel against his skin anymore? Even the weight is something Niall can't count for.  
  
"I mean you also have something to say as well." Zayn looks up to Niall from his hands on his crotch. He's alarmingly close that Niall's trying to push back but Zayn's eyes keep him from doing so.  
  
"You miss this, right?" Zayn runs two fingers over his dick, making it known to Niall that he's not afraid to press down.  
  
Niall muffles himself from showing any indulgence—especially when Zayn's feeling his fingers over his cock now.  
  
Niall's attention breaks from the touches below his waist. Looking up at Zayn, he raises his eyebrows. "Sad to say with you, I do."  
  
Zayn nods like he's agreeing as he slides his palm fully over his growing cock. "And we still love each other?"  
  
"I don't know. I'll let you answer your side of that."  
  
Zayn nods again. Eyebrows pushed in together, he looks down at Niall's growing cock in his sweats. "I do love you. But it's not easy."  
  
"Who said it was?"  
  
Zayn stops his hand right over the shaft, and Niall can't believe he's reached the level of not wanting Zayn to stop what he's doing. "Niall? Who's talking right now?"  
  
Niall groans when Zayn squeezes his hand around Niall's bulging cock through his trousers. Even Zayn wants his hand inside of them, feel Niall bare in his hands.  
  
Zayn continues, "I wanna make you happy but I don't think I can with things going on like this."  
  
"You want a divorce?" Niall asks.  
  
"No. Just make it easier for me."  
  
"I can't make it easy if you make it too hard."  
  
"How do I make it too hard?"  
  
"Let's have you figure that out yourself."  
  
He nods indifferent. "Is that all you want to say?" Zayn tilts his head to his shoulder, fingers rubbing intently.  
  
Niall lifts a brow before tilting his head back. "Be a good husband and finish what you've started."  
  
Zayn huffs, cupping his fingers around Niall's balls. "I'd love to but—I'm cooking dinner tonight. Being a good husband—I'm letting you rest."  
  
Hissing, Niall bends Zayn's free hand to crack, "Are you fucking kidding?"  
  
Zayn winces. Niall would only lighten up the bend on Zayn's wrist if there wasn't a grin of satisfaction on his face. "Haha! See ya, love."  
  
His hand frees from Niall's and he's watching his asshole of a husband making his way out the bedroom with his black work trousers and bare torso. Bending his arm, his forefinger flicks up in the air towards Niall—a goodbye to fuel the growing rage of Niall's circumstances.  
  
The anger veins through his wrist when he's flicking his wrist around his shaft as he closes his hands around the tip. Yeah, he's fucking himself limp again. Own hands in his own briefs. He's aware he rakes more minutes doing this himself. He has no choice, he has to. Or he'd be sitting through Zayn's mucked up dinner with a nasty bulge through his sweats. That isn't going to be the outcome Niall wants for tonight.  
  
Breaths hiss through his parted lips, face twisting into a tight expression of getting himself to come. And it's taking so long. Niall has no motive, no drive, and no want fucking himself through this. It feels like torture than relief.  
  
He wets his briefs when he comes—a sigh of relief emits, rather than fulfilment if this were done differently. By different—he really means Zayn.  
  
When he comes down (clean) for dinner, it's a real piece of shit like Niall had presumed. It shouldn't be considered dinner at all. It smells like a factory that produces metal bars.  
  
"Clam Chowder from a can, heated up afterwards. Lovely." Niall drones with a mocking frown.  
  
"Don't contempt me."  
  
"I have to. You let the can sit on top of the stove you weren't even cooking on, nearly burning this place down." Niall leans back against his chair. Adding to the rest of the other ruined courses, his chin points at the burned baguette.  
  
Zayn stays eying his soup. _"Tu es en vivant, oui? Puis taire."_  
  
_"Tu es stupide!"_ Niall's tongue starts to click questioningly. "It has no taste..."  
  
"It tastes just fine."  
  
"How many cups of water did you put?"  
  
"One."  
  
"It shouldn't be foggy-like and runny?"  
  
"What are you saying?"  
  
"You fucked up." Niall puts his spoon to the side. "You said one cup?"  
  
"Yeah. I filled a cup over there."  
  
Niall observes from the reflection of the china cabinet of the tall glass. He rolls his eyes to Zayn, a cup? That's a cup?  
  
"That's a pint glass! That's at least two cups and a half!"  
  
"Fuck..."  
  
"Idiota!" Niall laughs menacingly, hold his stomach when Zayn glares at him. "Should've fucked that boner down you fucking did for me. This wouldn't have happened."  
  
Zayn continuously glares across the table to Niall. "I'm going out." He slides the chair from the table, walking over to Niall with this unimpressed cocky look taking over.  
  
Niall scoffs, his knuckles beginning to burn when he grips the bread knife that's somehow beside him, and not the bread itself. "Don't come back."  
  
Suddenly, Zayn's hand is holding his chin, keeping his face in place as he tilts it to look him back in his eyes. "I'm coming back. Alright?" Zayn says tautly. Fuelled through aggravation, he's leaning down over Niall where his lips smash against Niall's for the first time. God, he missed this. It sucks Niall is so incompetent as a husband.  
  
"What the fuck was that for?" Niall's mouth twists in disgust when he gets free from Zayn's mouth on his. "I don't want you home, Zayn. L-leave."  
  
"Not fighting for me to stay?" Zayn croons contemptibly with his hand on the side of Niall's neck. His fingers caress his skin—it doesn't feel welcoming at all. "Such a shame. I would've done something for you to say thanks. I was getting bored from the lack of love making."  
  
"You call it love making? That's funny." Niall grimaces off to the side.  
  
"You know what's funny? You denying that we didn't have any of that before. We did, and it was a hell of a lot better than right now."  
  
"Just go. I'll clean everything."  
  
"This is what I mean by making things harder for me."  
  
"You could just give up everything and leave. It's what you're thinking. It's always what you're going to be thinking." Niall exhales. "You always tell me I'm making things hard as well. You should go for someone who'll love you your way."  
  
"I just might." Zayn huffs when he goes through the hall. "Don't be surprised if I don't go home."

 

-

  
  
So Niall took his advice—wasn't surprised when Zayn hasn't come back from wherever the fuck he went for three days now. Shit, it was a lot easier because Niall wasn't cooking for anyone but himself. There were no complaints about it being bland or too much, and that's because Zayn wasn't home.  
  
Except, Niall didn't anticipate the feeling of emptiness. He still couldn't find the fuck with the yacht, and he knows it's because he's not trying hard enough. He could go through the yacht dealers within Nice and Cannes and explore the models they offer, which dock holds a yacht. He could be dead, and he wasn't.  
  
"You've worked yourself over." He hears Asami just to the right of him, working on the character profiling from the yacht incident.  
  
Niall had neglected to remember his boat had taken video footage from the controls in case a hijacking happens and Niall could just track that person down and kill him. The video had already sent itself back to the headquarters which Asami is now using for her character profiling.  
  
Niall is tired—not from working overtime—tired of being up and crying his whole night. But he can't give up the fact someone was trying to kill him just a few days ago. Yeah, his eyes feel puffy these days that he could barely open them; yet it was nothing compared to someone wanting him dead.  
  
"I'm fine." Niall sighs. "Did you come up with anything?"  
  
Asami frowns full of concern, even so when she looks at her screen and away from Niall. "I can't conclude anything out of this. They look like a regular magnate—minus the gun he's holding." She sighs. "I've looked through at least twenty suspects within the system that all cancel out, considering they're not in France."  
  
"Enhance the RBG, and lessen the contrast. Mess with the brightness if you have to."  
  
"Coming your way."  
  
Niall opens the file with the newly tampered video and begins to scan the image displayed, hoping there'd be something to use to pinpoint the victim. There wasn't much to work with, to be honest. The video shook constantly that the images out of it became blurry.  
  
"God!" Niall pushes his chair back when he forces himself to sit up. It couldn't be. His eyes are funny when he doesn't wear his glasses but it's not that funny. He could still see things perfectly close so it's not the lack of glasses.  
  
"Sir, you found something?" Asami changes back to the window with the same image.  
  
Niall's digging his nails into his roots. It just couldn't be.  
  
"Does his form look familiar?" Niall exhales, pacing with his hands in his hair. "T-The broad shoulders, the tight shirt, how his body gradually narrows—like there's a really beau—good ratio between his shoulders and hips?"  
  
"Sir. Beautiful is the word, but there's nothing I could relate it to."  
  
"Hold on," Niall sighs, leaning over to his keyboard and mouse. He opens a file with an image—making a few minor adjustments before he sends the image to Asami. "I'm not looking for exact. But it's along the lines of this?"  
  
"It's along the lines. The yacht photo is just so blurry for me to—" Asami stops when Niall sends another version of the photo. " _Exactly_ along the lines." Asami corrects herself, comparing the newly editing blurred pic to the yacht photo.  
  
Niall curses into his hands as they cover his face. He enters his PIN from his computer, unlocking the cabinet behind him.  
  
"Sir, you can't just show me these things and expect me to know who it is." States Asami while she watches Niall open the emergency authorized weapons lock.  
  
"I don't know! Tell me what you see." Niall huffs, holding the first cabinet door open before he drops his arm by his side. "I don't want to believe my own assumptions."  
  
"Alright." She says firmly. "The two photos share a similar shoulder-hip ratio. Both of the photos have our lead to be wearing white button downs that—"  
  
"That..." Niall repeats, twisting the silencer into his pistol.  
  
"Fit his figure, like really tight that it outlines his..." She looks at Niall.  
  
"Chest, alright. Keep going." He loads the gun with ammo.  
  
"That's it. Besides—now that I'm looking closer into the yacht image—he's got something out of his pocket." She says. "That's all I could make out of it. Now tell me what you know."  
  
Niall tucks the gun in his holster, leaning down to his computer where he sends the original picture to Asami before he goes back to the cabinet.  
  
"Sir, who's this?" Asami raises her eyebrows at the screen. It was the image they had been studying for a while now, just without any more cropping and editing. A lot of people would know if they saw the picture unlike Asami who was just hired three months ago. She's working as Niall's assistant.  
  
"My husband, Zayn." Niall hums, pulling out knives he sheathes in the holsters of his ankles.  
  
_"Husband?"_ She exclaims, scrolling through the records of people until she hits Zayn. Brown eyes, black hair, 5'9, studied at University of Technology of Troyes but works at Graneurs Inc.? Graneurs Incorporations Niall's ass.  
  
"I'm sure—" She pauses before looking at his ID again. "Really? Him?"  
  
"He wore a pen outside of his pocket that day." Niall grimaces. "That's really his figure. I could never mistake that."  
  
"Are you really going to kill him?"  
  
"After I ask him why he'd want to endanger himself like this."  
  
"Niall, I don't think you're thinking this through." Asami raises and pushed her eyebrows together. "You _will_ kill him."  
  
"That's what I want."  
  
"I get that things aren't going so easy between you two but you can't do this." Asami points to her screen—pointing to their wedding photo Niall brought up.  
  
"I married him for my job. I don't care what happens to him."  
  
"Please, what if something happens? To you?"  
  
"Assume I'm dead, and delete all of my data off the system."  
  
"Sir, that's not funny."  
  
"I wasn't joking." Niall shuts his computer down. "Deal with it."  
  
He doesn't care if he's speeding through the highway. For all he cares, he'll pull out his security badge and bullshit something about his speeding is for the sake of national security. Like he ever gave a damn about national security.  
  
He follows right behind Zayn's car—parked right in front of their house. Yeah, his stupid ass job would pay for the 2016 model of Audi TT in black and leather, heated seats.  
  
"You came back." Niall says slowly, when he hears the TV on. He takes a step before leaning against the wall, drawing his pistol. That bastard isn't even here and he sure as hell knows he didn't leave the TV on this time.  
  
He cocks his pistol, holding it up front when he creeps through the hallway.  
  
"Doesn't it suck so much..." Zayn begins to start when Niall enters the kitchen, knows he notices him sitting at the end of dining table with a glass of wine and a gun in his hand—the same hand holding his chin up. "That we both know how it feels to live with well-born liars?"  
  
"It's terrible." Niall mutters, glaring at Zayn who's much more focused with the colour of his wine. It's not until Niall sits at the other end Zayn looks across at him.  
  
"I never knew I lived with an assassin, and you never knew you lived with one as well!" Zayn huffs a laugh, pushing himself off the table before Niall's instincts could kick in. His gun is aimed at Zayn who's slowly walking his way, holding the wine bottle with a coy driven grin.  
  
"By the way, isn't this the '91 Pinot Grigio your grandmother gave to us on our wedding?"  
  
Niall kept silent; not letting Zayn obtain anything from him. His arm is still up, prompted by the chair's back support with his gun still following Zayn. He could hear the blush rush in his head just watching Zayn opening a cabinet for a glass.  
  
"You're getting your share, don't shoot." Zayn's voice hums. Niall can't find any ease to that, as much as he wants to taste 24 year old wine—Zayn's gun is tucked behind him.  
  
This was a mockery of everything they've done because this is a stand-off—Zayn wouldn't be nice as to be pouring Niall wine if there isn't anything meaningful about it to get Niall off his edge. Zayn must've always known it was him in Cannes. Zayn would have never planned to come back three days after—exactly right on the day Niall had figured him out. He knew this whole time Niall would be his target in Cannes; leaving Niall vulnerable at home without him knowing it was Zayn after all. So he could've died three days ago, but why not? Why did Zayn wait three days to come home and do so like this?  
  
Zayn hands the glass to Niall while his hand combed through his hair out of tension. There's about an uneven fraction of chances Niall shooting him, the majority being he will. It didn't come through Zayn's head when he sat on the table—a heartbeat away from Niall who glared at him with the glass tipped back against his lips while his thumb pulled back on the hammer as he aimed at Zayn again.  
  
He's unfazed by the click that his eyes never peered off of Niall's to his hand. He kept still—not moving an inch of anything when Niall put his forefinger through the trigger's slot. He just did what he had to do and it was breathe—breathe and keep his low-lidded eyes focused on Niall.  
  
It should spark something through Zayn not to kill him. Niall's got pretty blue eyes Zayn knows death wouldn't make any proper use of. Zayn sure as hell made use of those things that had given him the awful habit of staring into his eyes when he spoke. Even when he pissed him off—he's too driven through his job to admit he feels lighter after looking at them.  
  
He swallowed down his pain when Niall slid the glass away; just by a few inch to his left.  
  
"Thanks for opening it without me." He finally croaks a sentence out that Zayn huffs once to, even puts a smirk on his face especially for Niall who still has his humour up and running in such an unlawful time.  
  
"Before I bring you to hell with me for shooting my face off, why don't we talk?" Zayn's voice is smoother than anything Niall could remember hearing from him. Even smoother than the first time he met. It's impressive for him to put on such a tone while he threats Niall.  
  
Niall rolls his eyes with a weak curve from the corner of his mouth. "Because when we talk, I always imagine myself putting a bullet through your head."  
  
Zayn chortles while he shakes his head. "So why'd you marry me?"  
  
"To save myself. You were just an accessory to my persona. Nothing else."  
  
Zayn burgeons into laughter, causing Niall to raise his gun to his face. "Je suis désolé, mon cher. Je ne te crois pas."  
  
"Why would you? You're always so full of yourself."  
  
"If you want a divorce, can we at least use a believable story that doesn't involve espionage?" Zayn sighs. "Or the one where death doesn't become our solution?"  
  
"Quite the bastard you are. Don't you remember just a few days ago, you shot my boat to blow up?"  
  
"It was beautiful. But I'm sorry, love. I have bad aim."  
  
"You caught my shoulder."  
  
"I told you bad aim." Zayn shrugs. “I didn’t know it was you.”  
  
"Who do you work for?" Niall blurts.  
  
"That's something confidential."  
  
"You must be their employee of the month."  
  
"Something like that." Zayn smiles.  
  
"Is the interrogation over?" Niall exhales, feeling the heat of the wine coming to his cheeks.  
  
"Is everything business to you?" Zayn grimaces as he shakes his head.  
  
Niall exhales shakily. "Zayn, what did you do with the wine?" The base of his palm digs into his eyes as he rubs the haze, hoping the two of Zayn's would disappear. His eyes can barely keep open while his air intake feels too heavy for him breathe out all at once so his breath shakes. His gun drops on the table, with his hand making a fist.  
  
"Zayn, what did you do?" Niall exhales loudly, breaking in between as he coughs into his elbow. His forehead presses against forearm, blinking fervently. The last thing he saw were the two Zayn's picking up his gun.  
  
"No harm done." Zayn hums, combing Niall's hair back as he leans down on the table, nearing himself to Niall. Through agonizing pain, he can't even open his eyes. All he sees are white, bright flashes—enough to send him in shock.  
  
"Shh..." Zayn continues to coo Niall. "It's just a small dose of sodium pentothal."  
  
"I-It's cold..." Niall trembles, shaking his head one before a headaches starts to kick in. His breathing quickens as fast as a recuperating marathon runner.  
  
"I know, but you're sweating."  
  
"Stop this... Stop everything." Niall lifts his head up, keeping his eyes closed, breathing continuing to be ragged.  
  
"In a little bit." Zayn's face twists in pain when he caresses the hair away from Niall's forehead. "I wanna know what you do at work."  
  
It takes Niall a while to respond. His mouth is dry; his tongue is stuck on the roof of his mouth. His mind is playing games that his head is hurting. There's voices speaking for him and it isn't his voice or his decision. It's compelling him to the point he's fighting himself for no reason at all. "I-I... I kill. Clients talk to me about contracts and I kill them..." Niall exhales like the howling wind in an abyss.  
  
"How long have you been doing this?" Zayn croons softly, trying not to quake Niall's mind.  
  
"Be—before we got married. Must be nine years..." Niall groans, puffing.  
  
"And why did you marry me?" Zayn asks as he turns his body to sit facing Niall. His foot rested on the little space of chair between Niall's thighs.  
  
"I needed to—to, uh, look normal. Couldn't be alone."  
  
"Did you ever love me?"  
  
"Yes—a bit—I loved you."  
  
"If I made you an offer to run away, and leave all this behind... Would you take it?"  
  
"No. Still have to kill you."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I hate you so much."  
  
"I thought you love me."  
  
"No, Zayn—should've left this a long time ago..." Niall pushes his palms into his eyes as his fingers grip the roots of his hair.  
  
"What's _this_?"  
  
"Marriage. Can't do it. Can't do anything. Don't know anything."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Me."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"No real family." Niall tilts his head back, hands still over his eyes. "P-Please, I don't... Can't talk anymore. It hurts."  
  
Zayn's hesitant when there's still so much to get out of Niall who's confessing—barely—but still confessing the truth. There's a lot to hear, many things to know about Niall he neglected to inform Zayn about.  
  
Just watching him; he can't sit a minute without keeping still or breathing so loud. Zayn shouldn't—especially at a time like this where he's got the upper-hand on Niall. He shouldn't think of him like he was the same person he met in Paris. He figures that Niall's really motivated to kill him, but all he could see was how weak he was; begging, shaking, making convulsive gasps, as if he's really—not now. At least not when Zayn cheated in their little game.

"Come on." Zayn pushes himself off the table, looking down at Niall—head hanging with both hands open on his lap. "I know you could handle this. This is baby food. Non, mon chér?" Zayn holds Niall's chin up so he could look up. His eyes can barely open. They're just slits with dilated pupils—no more of the blue he's in love with.  
  
"C'mere," Niall breathes out. It's barely audible to hear but Zayn—at the last minute leans his ear down to Niall's lips. His breath ghosts, muttering something Zayn wants to hear again.  
  
Niall's lips are parted as he swallows, and he takes a deep breath before parting his lips even more.  
  
"G'na—kill you. Slowly." Niall grumbles as his head leans back to the chair when Zayn pulled back and let go of his chin.  
  
"That's just the fatigue talking." Niall hears the scorn in Zayn's tone, and then he feels a hand behind his neck and knees. He's being lifted.  
  
Shit, he can barely move. It's like he's numb but he isn't because he's trembling crazy. His head is just manipulated and yet, his whole body feels disconnected. The only thing breaking through his senses is the smell of Zayn's cologne. It's pungent as he smells it close from his nose. It's been long since Niall's ever been this close to Zayn. He hasn't been held or carried in 2 years. It feels extra-terrestrial.  
  
"Do you... Love me?" Niall breathes out on Zayn's neck. Zayn readjusts his hold around Niall, not because he was falling. It's only fair to acknowledge his question when he drugged him to answer his.  
  
"Still do." Zayn answers just as they reached their bedroom.  
  
He lays Niall down who's already curled up, still shaking. He kicks his shoes and socks off before Zayn could even get the chance to help out. He was thinking about it before, not necessarily knowing why. He just felt that he should.  
  
Zayn joins him in bed, knowing how high the risks are if the effects wear off. Zayn hopes that Niall's merciful when he wakes up, in full conscious state and finds Zayn embracing him. He's cold for Christ sakes, why shouldn't Zayn help him out? Besides the unrequited feelings between them, Zayn still cares.  
  
No, he's not hurt by him. It's funny he should be but he's not. He fixed his arm around Niall's neck with his face buried just above his chest—over his collar bone, coddling him close where he could feel Niall's nose inhaling and exhaling on him. It should hurt to have to hear Niall confess his hate for him—how he'd rather try to attempt and kill Zayn than leave the life none of them should be living. But this—whatever they're doing right now makes him feel a little confident, that maybe the serum was defected.  
  
This isn't something any of them should be doing to begin with. Niall especially, whose intention is to kill Zayn, and this just makes him a hypocrite. He can feel a bit of his senses coming back to him now. He can't believe Zayn got to him. No matter whatever this is right now, it doesn't top Niall's ego when he got drugged. Someone like him should know better and he didn't. Now he's admitted things he shouldn't have, while allowing Zayn to hold him tightly like he wasn't ready to kill him in Cannes that day.  
  
And it only took him four years to finally carry him up into their room. Just four. Only, it was when Niall was off his senses not to recognize that.

  
-

  
Niall's body stiffens when he wakes up, and feels his arm tight around the curve of Zayn's sides before he could jerk his arm away, and putting it back down lightly. If he wakes up, who knows what he could do?  
  
He rubs his ankles, feeling for his knives which are still sheathed from his ankle holster. His gun is long gone by now, or just downstairs where Zayn had left it. A stupid decision of his because he isn't going to be leaving this room today or tomorrow.  
  
First, he needs to move before he starts plotting anything else.  
  
"Zayn," Niall grumbles in his neck, causing Zayn to stiffen and tighten his hold around Niall. "I-I can't breathe."  
  
"Oh, don't act so innocent." Zayn coons softly. "You were the one speaking about killing me."  
  
"S-stop..." Niall groans hoarsely when he peels his arm off Zayn as he bends his leg to frisk for his knife. It only ends suspiciously when Niall's leg hitch Zayn's hip.  
  
"What are you doing?" Zayn hums impressed, pulling Niall closer by the back of his knee. At least the grip around Niall's neck loosens, and he instead—he feels Zayn combing his hair more than he does suffocating.  
  
He can't just admit he's thinking about taking his knife from his ankles and sticking it on his nape. It shouldn't be this hard. It's even harder to think about what to do next.  
  
His arm makes around Zayn, weak exhale on his neck, "We haven't—we haven't kissed in so long a-and I... I just want to."  
  
"I don't remember you like this." Zayn's hand cups Niall's jaw, tilting his head back so he could orient their faces together.  
  
"Just think now." Niall whispers, lets his mouth meet Zayn as he closes in, Zayn's tongue licking Niall's bottom lip before his teeth where he meets Niall's tongue after.  
  
Niall's cheeks are burning. From his temples, all the way until his neck, he feels the blood throbbing under his skin. They've never kissed like this in so long. Hard to imagine Zayn knows anything. Yet; his mouth is leading them on what to do next. The way he kisses – it's slow yet fast in its own way. Not just his mouth, his thumbs caress Niall's cheeks, he tilts his head for their tongue to meet at an angle, and his eyes are closed – wants this to mean a lot more than anything.  
  
Niall doesn't even know it himself, that his leg is hooked around Zayn's hip, that it's his hand rubbing and grazing against the fabric of his shirt on his side, feeling the ridges of his ribs.  
  
Their breaths are long and deep, still not enough for them to accept. Their mouths gape against each other, their wet lips drag and brush over each other. Breaths are shaky, blowing out from both their mouths, but don't seem to care. When Zayn blinks his eyes open, it's not brash. It's slow and reflective that Niall – through the hate and grudge he's held all this time – looks at back at Zayn for once like when they first met.  
  
"I'm going to ask you one more time," Zayn whispers over their lips. "To run away, and leave this behind."  
  
"No." Niall exhales shakily. "I'm sorry." And he wasn't sorry that he said the answer Zayn didn't want to hear. It's the knife he's got lingering over Zayn's nape.  
  
"Niall, don't. You don't want to kill me." He caresses his cheeks.  
  
"If you move back, I'll cut through your neck." Niall mutters, gripping the knife tightly. His knife doesn't follow Zayn's neck when he inches closer to Niall.  
  
"Niall, listen. I love you. And I know you love me back. And I know you didn't marry me because of this." Zayn furrows his eyebrows, combing Niall's hair with his fingers. "If you did, you wouldn't be holding a knife against me. You would kill me right now, knowing it's what you want—"  
  
"Zayn, stop." Niall presses the blade on his neck. "I know what you're trying to do. It's not going to—"  
  
"I know what you want!" Zayn raises his voice, still keeping it subtle. "And it's not me dead. It's not. You want a better life now. I know it. And I haven't been the best to you, but if you want a life where you're not hiding guns around the house, then l'll be here, because I want that too."  
  
"Zayn," Niall mumbles deeply, pulling the knife back from his neck. Using his hip, he pushes Zayn to lie down on the bed while he sits up over him. The flat side of his knife taps just where Zayn's chest begins. "We all have places where we can get shot or stabbed, and not die at all. One..." Niall bends down, gives a light peck on Zayn's skin. When he continues to count, he moves to a different spot. For two it's his other spot. For three and four, he rubs Zayn's thighs. Surely, it's making sense to him now.  
  
He leans back down, kissing the same spot for number one. "But in those exact spots, if I dig down far enough..." Niall's lips trail up to Zayn's ear, and just under he begins to mouth at his skin, and it leads to Zayn exhaling and heaving. And he's not turned on by this at all. "Deep down," Niall takes his skin between his teeth, and starts to suck, causing Zayn to moan in pain. "I'll be able to cut your artery. And you'll die, whether you know I want a new life or not."  
  
Niall curls his lips back, biting hit bottom lip when it hits him what he's doing.  
  
"I do want a new life. You're not wrong." Niall pulls away, facing Zayn. "Truth be told, I grew up in Morocco, fell into the wrong places, fell into doing the wrong things just to live because my real parents kicked me out at sixteen. I stayed a while in Morocco, and before you know it, people are chasing me while I'm chasing someone else. An eternal game of cat and mouse here, Zayn." Niall looks away from him, unsure if it's right to tell him these things. "I'm not getting out. So..." Niall has both knives from his ankles in his hand, blade lined up against Zayn's shoulder.  
  
It was all so sudden that Niall cut Zayn's shoulder arms. Both of them, bleeding crazy – seeping through his shirt and onto the bed.  He's cursing at Niall who's leaving their room. He's holding both his arm, and hates the fact Niall knew if both his hands were occupied, he wouldn't be able to kill him.  
  
Zayn takes a deep breath, seeing the blood trailing off his shoulders from the corner of his eyes. This isn't new pain at all. Just the one who stabbed is new.  
  
Niall's downstairs. Frantically, he searches for his gun from last night. His knives are already pocketed into his ankles, but he grabs a few more from his secret case. Even his mind is going off, knowing that it's a mistake he's done to let Zayn live.  
  
He quickly turns, pointing a pistol out into the hallway. Paranoid as he is, it's been too quiet. He knows how Zayn plays – all love-struck and innocent, as if he doesn't have the capability to kill him. That's a joke right? He's not stupid.  
  
All of the sudden, there's debris from shotgun blasts falling on him that he's covering his head. He swears to himself, finding no advantage for his part when his guns are where Zayn's blasting shots. Can't believe Zayn knows this house just like that when he's barely home.  
  
The blasting stops and he keeps his breath in. It's quiet again but the debris crumbling from the ceiling. He could never trust moments when everything becomes at a standstill. It's never a standstill.  
  
All he wants to do is get out of the house. Now, he's really certain killing Zayn is his priority before that.  
  
Quiet and stealthy, he walks through the living room, and leans against the wall with the hallway just behind. He limits his breath, knowing how impeccable Zayn's hearing is. Niall knows he's at the other side of the wall, looking for him to kill just like he is.  
  
**BOOM!** Niall ducks down hastily—milliseconds from having his head blown off. He can hear Zayn pumping the shotgun for another round and he's putting his gun out. Shot after shot through the broken wall, he pushes himself to get up and aim his pistol out. He leans out from the wall, still crouched to the floor. Goddamn, he's gone.  
  
Reloading his gun, he cracks his neck as he tilts his head to the side—feeling the bead of sweat dripping down from his forehead. His gun is shaking in his hand as he creeps through the hall. His nostrils are flared. His instincts are in frenzy. His gaze shifting left and right, pinpointing every detail of his home he can't even consider a safe haven anymore. But when was it ever safe? He slips his other gun out from his back, aiming it behind as he enters through the dining room.  
  
The image of Zayn flashes and immediately he leans on the fine chine cabinet—saving himself from another shotgun blow. He hears the pump again.  
  
Taking a deep breath, he pulls off the wall, aiming both guns directly right at Zayn. One after the other, shots are being sent out—to the kitchen where the bullets are breaking mugs and glass. Everywhere but to Zayn are the bullets cracking through. But he can't stop. He won't give him the open window to move an inch of himself off the floor.  
  
A foot on a chair and over the table, he fires through the end of the table. There's no holding back. He's relentless.  
  
He hears clicks from his guns—that's when it's all over. He sprints to the end of the table, leaping off before he can pull his next two pistols out and turn himself to aim back to the dining table. Zayn's quickly back up on his feet—firing both his automatics back at Niall before he can lose his aim when Niall falls onto the floor. He leans to the back of the island counter, catching his breath. God! His aim is off. Not one spray of his bullets caught him. But he can keep up. That's all that matters. Niall's fast, but Zayn's faster.  
  
No more remorse—none of that petty bullshit. Enough waiting. He needs to go.  
  
Zayn blows his last breath just as he stands up—only to find Niall on his feet again. Somewhere. He's close. Zayn knows he won't run. It hurts his pride.  
  
It's quiet. The blood rushing through his head is the only thing he can make out. Even his heartbeat, the heavy beat of his adrenaline is drumming. All of the sudden, he pulls the latch of his gun, finger right at the trigger as he aims to the living room.  
  
The T.V. is on.  
  
It wasn't before.  
  
"You know," Zayn starts, gripping his gun tighter than anything. "I never thought about this." Zayn's breathing is hollow, aiming off to the right. "But will any of us be happy in the end? One of us dies, we won't be married anymore, but this—this I'm pretty sure all the murdering is not going to stop. No matter who dies and who lives."  
  
Zayn chortles to himself. Nothing. No movement at all. He can hear and feel his pulse through his neck and his fingertip pulsing through the trigger. That's all he can feel.  
  
"Don't act—"  
  
So fast—not even in the blink of an eye, Zayn's reflex kicked, twirling behind him to already grip the lad trying to sneak up on him with his petty little blades. Niall's writhing his wrists free before he can jab his foot up to Zayn's stomach. His backflip pushes him a foot away—giving him time pull out a new and hold against his face. He watches Zayn stumble back, dropping his gun to hold his stomach, never anticipated that cheap kick from him.  
  
"Don't act like some philosopher, Zayn." The cynical side of Niall is coming out through his laughter. Zayn's watching Niall glare back at him with the knife close to his face. Hand gripping the handle; his fingers are at the base with the blade lining up against his arm. "I'm going to kill you and I'll enjoy doing it."  
  
Exploding in laughter, Zayn claps his hands together, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows. Closing his fists, he readies himself in a stance, cracking his neck to the left. "Drop the blade, sweetie. You might enjoy it just using your bare hands."  
  
Niall gives a quick huff, lunging forward to Zayn with his blade at hand. Zayn's losing breath each time he's eluding from Niall's swipe. Zayn does a quick duck and jabs his fist right on his ribs. All of the knowledge of his fighting, it's all coming from boxing and jujitsu. He knows a thing or two with a knife; but he's seen Niall's skill around the house. It was quiet and a big contrast between chopping and throwing. He should've seen it coming.  
  
"Fuck!" Zayn hisses at the graze on his cheek. It's fire he's feeling out of his skin, and the heat is dripping down. It's in his luck that he dodged at the right time. If he was any closer, the cut would've been deeper that he'd fall back.  
  
Except, Niall's challenging his patience with his little toy that Zayn won't give up. Not even with a cut on his face—it's only a paper cut to him.  
  
"Come on, Niall." Zayn exhales through his smirk, beckoning his fingers at him. "Lose your toy and dance with me."  
  
"Fine." Niall huffs, dropping his knife ever so fast that Zayn's trying to free himself from Niall's charge. They're both locked against each other, but it's Zayn who's falling back over the coffee table.  
  
The glass vase centrepiece shatters and everything else clatters to the floor. Zayn's pushing himself back up—despite the ache and pain running through his body slamming on their coffee table. But he's trapped—struggling at Niall's hand gripping around his neck. One by one, swipe after swipe, Niall's fist keeps going against Zayn's face. His fist is aching against his bones. Through his anger, he doesn't feel the need to stop. Zayn's not even fighting against or it's not bothering Niall at all that Zayn's fingers are gripping his shirt.  
  
That's because Zayn's pulling him in closer. Niall's digging his feet down, yet Zayn's strength is much stronger than his as he pulls himself against Niall. Then BAM! Niall falls back, groaning and holding his forehead. He got a fucking head-butt!  
  
"Oh fuck," Holding his forehead with his palm, Niall hisses. He's disoriented—stumbling around, shaking his head to get his sight back all right again. Hell, his head is throbbing and that's not the only bad thing: Zayn's peeling himself all the table. And he's not fucked up at all.  
  
"Tu as fini?" Zayn shuts his eyes tight for a second, exhaling before making his move. His whole face is piercing that it feels normal to him—that the blood from his nose, lips, and cheeks don't matter at all. Or maybe, his adrenaline is kicking in, and it's on high.  
  
He grabs Niall by his neck, free from any struggle but Niall trying to pull his hand away. He can hear Niall gasping for air, his eyes getting bigger as the seconds pass. Anger's fuelling Zayn, fuelling him to the point Zayn's slamming him against the wall. Before Niall's even realizing it, he's falling on his knees and hands.  
  
It's almost a concussion, but it's just a hard hit from his head to the wall from Zayn's strength. He's catching his breath, only to get one in his system. A straight kick to the side of his face sends him flat on the floor, his face smashed against the impact of the hardwood floor. He's groaning—never felt this horrible and weaker than ever before. His eyes are barely opening, black is all he sees and his head is pounding in the worst way. He can't even dare to get up and save himself from Zayn's next move.  
  
And for once, he's terrified of Zayn. They've passed the line of their cruel jokes—this dance has become nothing but the real thing. He underestimated him—and he shouldn't have. Zayn's taken more blows to the face and injuries than Niall. In the end, Niall's the one on the floor, gasping for relief.  
  
Unintentionally, his groaning begins again when he feels himself being picked up by his collar. His darkened eyes are looking up at Zayn—blurry, with all the lights overwhelming his eyes. Bam! It's one punch to his face. He's trembling, but he's not given time to take it all on. Zayn sends him another across his face, still gripping his collar, still picked up off the floor like garbage. Until he's being dropped useless like fish bones—Zayn's uppercut is sending him back to the gates of hell. So close, but yet—so far.  
  
Zayn's footsteps falter. He's around somewhere Niall can't even pinpoint. It the chance to pull out the knives around his ankles. He strains for them but falls back, crying in pain but there aren't tears. They're too far to get in his circumstance. His body is aching everywhere, limiting his breathing to hoarse, tight, and shaky ones. Eyes are forcing itself to close. No matter how much he's throbbing and hurt, using all of his will, he will not to let them close.  
  
Suddenly, he's turned on his back and looking at the ceiling. It was Zayn's foot again. God, how the devil gave him such strength through his legs. Niall can't believe it. After all this time being so careful and so endearing, his time is over. The gun above his face isn't changing his thought. He's dead.  
  
But hell, what a life he's lived. And he lived it in vain.  
  
"I-I'm sorry, Zayn." Niall feels his eyes getting wet, gasps getting worse.  
  
Zayn glares at him. _Fuck_ , he shouldn't be so hesitant. This might just be another trick. He's biting his lips down, gripping his gun even tighter as Niall continues his convulsive gasps. The trigger is right at his fingertips. He's the one who has the one-up on Niall. He's the one with the gun. He's the one with the bullet. He's the one.  
  
He's the one.  
  
He's the one shaking. He's the one with the tightening throat. He's the one in pain and it doesn't make sense at all. Niall's the one who cut him thrice. Niall's the one who hurt him all these years. Niall's the one who doesn't love him back.  
  
Zayn lowers his arms, "N-Niall, I'm not doing it.” He coughs his tears out.  
  
"No!" Niall groans, his throat hollowing as he catches his breath. "P-Please, Zayn. Just do it."  
  
"I-I can't." Zayn drops to his knees, guns dangling from his hand against his floor.  
  
"Y-yes you can. P-pick it up." Niall gestures at the gun without averting his eyes from Zayn.  
  
"Niall, I said I can't!" Zayn's breath is shaky, his fingers trembling over Niall's face. It's his blood on his fingers—that's not how it's supposed to be.  
  
"Z-Zayn," Niall groans, using every little bit of his strength to pull himself up by holding Zayn's nape. "Come on. Just do this for me, and you can go."  
  
His whisper should've been something so easing and so uplifting; not hopeless and poignant that Zayn's having to shush Niall to keep him from saying such things.  
  
"Please, just kill me." Niall swallows hoarsely. "I don't want to do this anymore. I-I can't keep doing this."  
  
Zayn grips his hand over Niall's settling on his nape as his other hand holds Niall's neck. No one is going to win this. Not even Zayn, who has suddenly got the weapon now, not even Zayn who's got his fingers tight at the trigger. Never did they realize that the time would come that they have the opportunity to kill each other. Looking each other eye to eye, beaten from head to toe, with their house broken left and right, neither of them would do it no matter how much it'd make either of them happy that one of them is gone.  
  
"I won't." Zayn takes a deep breath, biting his lip tremulously.  
  
Moaning in pain, Niall's pushing himself not to cry anymore. The reason to is gone when there's relief to Zayn's answer. Those two words couldn't have sounded any better.  
  
See, Niall's begging is nothing but honeyed words; so sweet and believable that Zayn's not falling for it. Niall's in no way hoping his death come soon. This wasn't even a plan to turn against Zayn. He is honest in some way—this isn't the life he wants to live. And he doesn't want to live one without Zayn.  
  
Their lips part together but they don't touch. Niall's in so much pain trying to numb it all down. It gives him such a rush that he doesn't need to do anything but let it happen. So he does—slotting their lips together, slow and steady. The taste of blood doesn't equate to how much Niall wanted to do this again. He'll just have to ignore it and all the other cuts Zayn has on him.  
  
Zayn lays Niall down against the floor, getting a quiet moan from the hit on his head. Zayn settles down beside him as well, his mouth compensating for putting Niall's head down so carelessly, dragging his teeth under his lips before closing on them. His tongue licks his lips, letting a hum stray from Zayn. His hands claw in Niall's hair, pushing their mouth closer together. He can feel the sting on his neck as sweat is starting to form over his graze on his neck. Trying to ignore it, he settles his legs on Niall's side, pushing his hip down against his. Much to oblige, Niall holds his leg up against his side, putting his hand under the bend of his leg.  
  
Zayn's crying in pain—Niall had grazed his leg with his fucking aim with his revolver but it doesn't matter, his dick was growing harder by the minute as they rubbed their crotch over each other's, mouth still attached with Zayn's.  
  
The two of them could agree their bodies are too stiff and hurt to do anything. And Niall’s head is throbbing that any kind of movement hurts him. Will they stop, now that they're near to feel that heat from each other's body after two years? No way.  
  
Niall's grinding on him now, purposefully trying to grow Zayn out. He goes around the cut on his neck as his mouth warms up on a spot as his hands finger over Zayn's trousers. His tongue tastes the saltiness of his sweat, and he forces himself to push his mouth deeper into his skin to really get the taste stuck around his lips.  
  
"A-a-ah!" Zayn buries his head down, moan pitching high from his the back of his throat when Niall's really rubbing groin over Zayn's cock. Hand pressing over his abdomen makes its way up to his chest before Niall could curl his fingers around the bloody collar of Zayn's. He kisses rapidly up from the spot on his neck to his jaw, where his mouth meets Zayn again. Their eyebrows knit together in focus to have their tongues cross each other. It's easy because Niall's pulling him closer from the collar of his shirt, and Zayn's tongue is pressing firmly against his.  
  
Involuntarily, Niall's head cocks left and right—following some sort of pattern to meet Zayn to catch his tongue. He knows Zayn's trying to catch a bit of air. He's moaning from his throat through their wet mouths together when their cladded dicks are still pressing together, frequently tilting his head away from Niall. Wisps of air intake draws from his lips with his chest heaving and Niall can't bear the seconds away from Zayn's mouth.  
  
They make their way through the buttoned-down shirts—both aware of the marks on their bare chest is because of their fight. They're not severe but it hurts as much if there's pressure over it.  
  
Zayn's resting on top of Niall under a few broken glasses and fine mugs snapping under their bodies and some falling from the face of the china cabinet near them. They ignore their next potential injury when Zayn's burying his mouth at the crook of Niall's neck as he presses himself against him eagerly, hands on either side of Niall's waist as Niall slides against the floor. Niall's writhing and Zayn's doing his best to keep him still, wanting to leave a bruise from his mouth and not his fist or elbow.  
  
Zayn's lips are red and firm from sucking against Niall's body, and he too wants to put it for good use. So, he's stripping Zayn off his suit trousers, even though he really looks good in them. Fuck looking good, Niall's had enough of Zayn looking good. He wants it dirty.  
  
Both their bodies are aching, but they're aching to be touched.  
  
Zayn pulls Niall's zipper down from his trousers as well, eagerly dragging his briefs down to expose him as he looks at Niall—eyes low, nearly shut, mouth open, hips trying to move to Zayn's fist around his dick but barely with all this pain in his body.  
  
Niall's breaths are soft but sharp as Zayn works him up. His hand is slow but tight when he maneuvers his fist up to his head and Zayn could hear his quiet and soft gasps. He ignores Niall trying to pull his briefs down, only because his fingers are shaking and he can barely pull them off. Just to make things happen quicker, he drags them down past his hips to his legs, dick springing up as well. Niall's gasps escapes louder this time as Zayn's fist goes around both their dicks, pumping a moderate pace through his clenching grip. Zayn buries his face in Niall's neck, moving the collar of his shirt away so his mouth could go around a free spot. Niall pulls Zayn's shirt back, uncovering his shoulder—only to catch a glimpse of the cut on his shoulder. He did that.  
  
"Zayn," Niall exhales, his eyes roll back and shuts. God he was so close, he can feel it tight in his balls. Though his body is throbbing with pain, so was the head of his dick as Zayn pushed his thumb between his slit.  
  
And he let it out; a deep grunt from his throat. He came over his stomach slowly, feeling some warmth drip over his skin while Zayn's hand got slicker and faster.  
  
Niall moved Zayn's hands once he could hear him moan quietly, and Zayn turned himself on his side, still keep close against Niall. He wanted to see Niall's hands make him come. It's been such a long while since they didn't touch each other like this. He didn't like it that for so many years it was his own hand that made him feel good. Well, okay—Niall's hands are good. Even better. The best in his opinion.  
  
Zayn's hitched leg around Niall tightened, and his hands slipped over Niall's chest. He just needs to feel Niall in some way as well. So his hand is splayed over his chest, and his fingers are trying its best not to pinch Niall's nipples so tightly.  
  
Zayn buries his face into Niall's shoulder once he comes, moaning his name quietly as his fingers press harder over his chest. It was extra warm—shit, in between his legs has become sweaty.  
  
He lifts his face up, matching Niall's lips. Slowly, because it is so endearing to feel and hear their lips press and pull away. Niall's hand holds Zayn's face while Zayn pulled their briefs back up around their hips and zipped up Niall's trousers. Then his hand frisked over the broken glass and mug pieces until he feels Niall's cloth coaster that they've never used until now to clean the spunk off.  
  
Niall turns Zayn's face to him, looking right into his beautiful brown eyes. Then he starts to smile the longer Niall held his face and stayed him. The laughing comes along as well before Niall starts to laugh too.  
  
"Come on." Zayn huffs with a grin. Getting up, he puts his pants back on before he bends back down to carry Niall up before heading to their kitchen where nearly a lot of their stuff is destroyed.  
  
From the dining table he's sitting on, Niall watches Zayn around the kitchen. At least he can say he's finally done some things at home when he's never had before. He hears the kettle beginning to boil, but Zayn's not much focused on getting their drinks ready. Instead, he's wetting a cloth and walking over to Niall. Before he can even open his mouth, Zayn's already wiping his face clean from the blood that's dried on his face and everywhere else he can see.  
  
Niall lowers Zayn's hand from his face before he could say, "T-Thanks."  
  
Zayn starts to smile before he starts to wipe down his neck. "Ice is good?"  
  
"Yeah." Niall answers hesitantly. "... How about you?"  
  
"Sore." Zayn winces. "But manageable."  
  
Niall nods, nudging Zayn with his foot when he hears a click from the kettle. Niall continues to rub himself clean while Zayn went back to the kitchen, coming back right away with ice. He can't help but watch Zayn's torso at work with the way he maneuvers. He took off his bloody shirt so here he is. Simple as opening a cabinet, Niall is staring at his back from the beginning of his spine and would trail down to the base where he'd notice how small his hips are but how broad his shoulders are.  
  
Then he spaces back out, hearing things clatter in the cupboard as Zayn messes about.  
  
"Do you want help?" Niall asks, holding the edge of the table so he can push himself off while one hand covers a side of his side.  
  
"No, no." Zayn answers when he opens a new cabinet.  
  
Niall smirks, watching Zayn aimlessly open cabinets after cabinets. "It's the cabinet beside the fridge."  
  
He huffs quietly when he sees Zayn's reaction to the neat set of teas. There's a whole assortment of teas Zayn has never heard of like white blossom wild blueberry? If he can remember, Niall doesn't put sugar in his tea. So it means his favourite isn't some sort of black tea he can put milk in. By the looks of the lesser tea leaves, it's wild orange blossom. Whatever that is, Zayn just drinks coffee.  
  
He hands Niall his cup, hates how Niall smiles at him. Or maybe, he actually likes it and just hates how he flusters.  
  
"So," Niall starts, smirking at Zayn leaning against a small part of the wall just across from him. "Tell me."  
  
"What do you want to know?" Zayn lifts a brow.  
  
"You." Niall answers.  
  
"Oh, of course." Zayn grins, nodding in amusement as he places his mug on the table, hand on Niall's knee. "Uh... If I can recall, half of my life I grew up in London. Then the rest of it—I didn't stay. I kind of, moved around a lot. Did you know no one liked me?"  
  
"No one likes a man that handles a gun as easy as an artist who controls their paintbrush."  
  
"I mean as a kid." Zayn laughs. "I wasn't liked because I'd ace everything at school. It caused a lot of problems, something like complaints and shit, so that's why I moved constantly."  
  
"Did they beat you?"  
  
"It was kind of like a one on one thing; until I'd always win then they'd have a whole gang against me." Zayn shrugs. "Memories, yeah. They're lovely."  
  
"Mhm." Niall scoffs.  
  
"Anyways, it followed me through high school so they sent me to a juvenile detention centre. Then they thought I was some sort of genius with a higher IQ than Einstein so they said if I don't wanna do time, I have to become their source of statistics. And it was information regarding the secret organizations undergoing in Amsterdam, Paris, Barcelona, London, and Tel Aviv."  
  
"And suddenly, you're out here." Niall means in the field. People like Zayn tend to stay away from all the fighting and handle things through an ear piece.  
  
"They figured that because I'm good in combat, they'd put me out here." Zayn reaches for his cup. "And then that's when the money started coming in so I stayed." He takes a quick sip before he's putting down his cup. "I realize now how much of a problem that is."  
  
"It's alright." Niall kisses him deliberately at the corner of his lips.  
  
"Should tell you now I've got about 6 mill saved up... Since we're confessing and all." Zayn laughs.  
  
"Oh." Niall blurts in amusement. "I've got about 5."  
  
"That's more than enough to buy better looking curtains." As if Zayn has done him a favour by accidentally shooting them.  
  
"Could ya leave that alone?" Niall scoffs. "I'll literally fucking shut you up if you keep going on about my curtains."  
  
"Would you look at that?" Zayn hums, taking a glance at his watch. "We lasted five minutes through a nice conversation. That's a record."  
  
"Maybe if you aren't always pointing out every one of my fuck ups, things would be different." Niall grimaces as he lowers himself from the table. He leaves his tea, barely sipped from because he was so busy listening to Zayn go on about his life.  
  
But just when things seem great, they don't. Especially this whole thing.  
  
"Where are you going?" Zayn asks, watching Niall make his way to the living room, hearing the crunching of his footsteps over the broken glass.  
  
"I'll take the fucking curtains down if you don't like them." Niall huffs. "Cause nothing works with you. Not even me. So I'll leave, and you stay."  
  
"Niall, please stop." Zayn follows in from behind. "It was a joke."  
  
Niall moves the curtains apart, only to be welcomed by more trouble. Fuck—they've got jeeps with at least a few dozen on the team coming out. They're geared with heavy duty vests, and it seems like they won't take a joke. This woman catches the rifle, and right off the bat, she aims at Niall—a look without remorse is what Niall sees before he could turn back and shove Zayn down.  
  
A burst of bullets spray through their walls and Niall's pinning Zayn to the ground, using his body to protect Zayn from the firing.  
  
It's a deafening roar from dozens of assault rifles piercing through the walls and into the living room. Bullets only inching away from where they're being hit. The house is back into a fighting ground and it's ready to collapse of anything else goes wrong than an assault team going through their tactics to get in. They're sitting ducks right now.  
  
Zayn doesn't question what Niall knows. There's no time for it. He pulls the sofa cushion off, lifting the cover to reveal the semi-automatics and pistols. Niall's only figuring out Zayn's weapon box is where they sit every day. He wants to ask how in the world he pulled it off behind him but he can't ask. There's no time.  
  
Only enough for a bit to clue in Zayn.  
  
"Fuck!" Niall yells over the ricochets. He ducks down just in time to keep his head from blowing off. "I believe they work for Cyprus." Niall's agency. Zayn's heard of them—‘had’ an assignment to extract information out of their systems because they are always up to date with the technology. "But I thought—" Niall never thought these guys would exist at all. It was only rumours.  
  
"We're basically dead!" Zayn exclaims, cocking the second pistol. The answer is yes if Niall's too busy shielding Zayn. M9's aren't a match compared to Mini Beryl 96's. But they need something to use. The bullets in the house were increasing by a hundred each minute. Is no one reloading?  
  
The walls are nearly deteriorating. The assault team could come as they wish but everyone's got the idea of that not being the best plan. They weren't here for tea time or soirees. They're here to annihilate the both of them—and they don't care for Niall's exquisite skills and wondrous years of service in the agency. Bullets could kill anyone if you're shooting right.  
  
"Hurry up!" Niall braces his shoulder over Zayn, shoving a magazine of 15 in the Glock 22. "Gimme the Desert Eagle!"  
  
"Sorry, that one's mine." Zayn exhales to Niall who couldn't hate Zayn more right now than this assault team.  
  
Niall takes the two M9's, peeling off from Zayn. Crouching, he makes his way over to the dining room, slipping the ankle holsters under his trousers before pulling the dual knives out of the wall and sheathing it in. There's a bag under the island counter in the kitchen and he swoops right in for it, trying his best to stray from the bullets. Niall had a feeling this was going to be happening. Just not this quick after he's researched about Zayn on Cyprus' network. As well as infiltrating his home in the afternoon is much unexpected and certainly not after getting things straight with Zayn again.  
  
As for him—  
  
"Ring off."  
  
Niall doesn't ask when Zayn advises that about their wedding ring. He'll be taking it off anyway.  
  
Thinking about it—living in a house with 8 feet hedges surrounding the premises could be the worst idea they've ever agreed on. As well as parking their cars right in the roundabout of their house instead of the garage where they would be able to make an easy getaway with a deadly car chase afterwards everyone knows would happen—Niall's always being watched and so is Zayn.  
  
Leaving their home and fighting them face to face would be a death sentence and none of them wanted to die. Not like this anyway. They're behind the island counter, leaned against the cabinet door for cover. Staying in cover isn't going to do any justice either. They'll be busting through every window and door in a few minutes for their bodies. If they're found alive, that doesn't change the aspect of the agency's contracts which is the two of them.  
  
Chest heaving with beads of sweat making its way down his forehead, Zayn swallows the build-up of saliva in his throat before he could realize the dryness of his mouth just breathing and breathing. Beside him, Niall's doing the same but unresponsive. Mouth open and eyes fixed on the cabinet without blinking, Zayn knows he's out of it and he can't, not right now.  
  
Zayn puffs, shaking his head in mad exhaustion. Niall looks up at him but nothing differs much from before. "Niall. We're not staying here. Snap out of it."  
  
A roar of glass shattering empowers the spraying bullets, and there's footsteps rushing through the house, most up the stairs and hallway leading to the dining room. Zayn has to act fast; this whole assault team wants his head more than Niall's, but he's not leaving Niall here out of his head so he could break away from the team.  
  
They're dealing with idiots with big guns—not minds like theirs. So it'd be easy to get by right?  
  
Zayn peers through the countertop to see two heavy-suited personnel checking the aftermath in the dining room. He could take them out, risk the open fire of thousands of bullets outside. The only priority he can't risk is have Niall be found behind the counter. They'd back off of Niall once they know Zayn's accounted for.  
  
Hopefully.  
  
Zayn crouching to the side of the island, he emerges high on his feet behind the personnel, arm reaching around his shoulders to his visage. His partner's readying his gun, but Zayn's got the one-up against them—shooting two bullets right into his chest. Using the corpse's deadweight, Zayn pushes it from his proximity with the corpse breaking through the assaulter to send him on the floor. He's pushing off the 210 pounds on him but Zayn's fast. Thinking through the adrenaline, he's already got his hands where it needs to be, snapping the head of this guy.  
  
He searches through the corpses: rifles, magazines, pistols, and a few canisters of gas and grenades they could use. He refills the rifle with a new magazine before slinging it over his shoulder.  
  
He falls on his bottom when he reacts to the heavy steps in the hall. With his gun aimed right towards at the archway, one of the private military bastards had his gun pointed up, aimed back at him. His eyes widened in fear with his feet scrambling on the floor, along with his chest heaving for relief, there was none—until a flying blur came to a stop right on his head. It's one of Niall's knives.  
  
"I had it handled." Zayn grumps, dropping his arms with his gun dangling onto the floor.  
  
"Oh, sure." Niall appears when the body drops on the floor. He pulls the knife out of the corpse, cleaning the blood off the knife by sliding both sides on his thigh. He pulls Zayn up to his feet, and then gives a light tap from his foot to the corpse. "I've never seen these military security personnel in my entire life."  
  
"That's good, I reckon. I mean if you ever saw them, it's most likely they're here to kill you."  
  
"Look where we are now." Niall huffs, sheathing his knife in his ankle holder. Then he decides to pull out both his dual guns. "There are 6 in total upstairs."  
  
Zayn coming back from the kitchen, brings along the shotgun he was about to shoot Niall's head off with more shells packed in now. "4 in our bedroom. The other two—one in the bathroom, one in the storage closet."  
  
"Wing it?" Niall grimaces curiously, picking up the flashbang grenade.  
  
"Yeah. Go easy." Zayn secures the shotgun, slotting his finger right at the trigger.  
  
He treads up the stairs, putting all the pressure on his toes. One step at a time. Silent as the night over the oceans. No storms, no winds. Zayn avoids bothering the stinging injuries on his face that he feels the need to scratch to relieve.  
  
Niall treads behind him, continuously turning back and pointing his gun behind him in case those military personnel comes rushing through the door. Breathing loud enough that he could hear it leaving his nose, he limits himself to short and complicated breaths.  
  
This wasn't supposed to happen. Along with Zayn being alive, Niall failing his own mission, and actually working together as if it was something they've done all the time. Yeah, they're married; marriage is all about working as a team. Yet, Niall doesn't think any couples took it to the literal meaning where they're going ahead against 6 private paramilitary Niall never had a clue about since he's worked 9 years under their organization. Unbelievable. The term must've focused on debt and family—not bullets and staying alive. They don't have a family and they're certainly not in debt.  
  
They lean against the end of the hall, peeking out through the wall where the hallway continues to their rooms. There's radio chattering, heavy deep steps from their boots, and dim conversations about Niall and Zayn.  
  
Zayn gestures the personnel at the exact placement he predicted minutes ago. It's smart for the two to extract the men in the extra rooms, and charge last into their bedroom where 4 are residing. Not to mention, the team is equipped with heavy loaded vests and guns.  
  
What are they really doing exactly? They never felt this guarded and alert, even praying that they live this out before. No one prayed for that kind of thing. It all came from luck and skill for them not to live this long, and working such a job. Not faith.  
  
Suddenly, Zayn charges without a signal, forcing Niall to hold back his protest when he heads into their storage room. Niall takes a deep breath, clutching his knife that his knuckles burn from how tight he's gripping. He shakes off the idea of this all falling before them, because he can't do that to Zayn and himself. Zayn is showing more of an ambition than he is and it's wrong. He wants to live too.  
  
Fuck it. He's done this so many times. There shouldn't be flaws.  
  
He slips into the bathroom. Swift, fast and silent as ever, he charges towards the man. Dead on, his knee takes impact right at the man's spine, knocking his head forward on their wall. There's a faint crack Niall doesn't hear, but when he sees the blood on the tiles and square on the man's forehead, he's knocked out for sure.  
  
He's catching his breath again, loosens his grip on his knife until he feels a presence. He whips out his gun, pointing it at the door. Or so to say—  
  
"Zayn." Niall sighs in so much relief, putting his gun down. His finger carefully slips out from the trigger. Niall doesn't want to end Zayn.  
  
"I heard a thud and I thought—"  
  
"I'm fine." Niall shakes his head and turns to the corpse before accepting Zayn's embrace. "Are you alright?"  
  
He pulls back with a mute laugh, opening the cabinet of supplies afterwards. "A bit insulted that this is all your agency can give me."  
  
They start to bandage, one working on themselves while the other does the same. They're used to doing it for themselves. Now, no one is sure if they have to do it to one another now. Since they're married, and all. They share a look of each other’s wounds, to only turn away when they smile weak at each other.  
  
"There has to be a reason why I never knew about them." Niall dabs a cotton swab with alcohol over the scratch on his cheek, curving his lips in when the stinging begins.  
  
"The men were having a conversation about the agency having an infiltrator. I believe they think it's you." Zayn replies while wrapping the graze from Niall's bullet around with gauze.  
  
"Lovely. Always nice to be on their wanted list." Niall exhales quietly. "Still doesn't tell me why they exist."  
  
"Whatever reason, they're not kidding around." Zayn lets out a deep breath when he pulls out the desert eagle and silencer, screwing the silencer to the end of the gun. "Bringing out private military personnel... Are you really that good?"  
  
Niall laughs when he cleans his knives, sliding the blood off the blade like good as new. "How do I know they're not here to try and kill you off?"  
  
"They sent you to do that, didn’t they?" Zayn beckons his head towards the room, holding his gun low with both of his hands. "You've got the flashbang?"  
  
"Mhm." Niall shakes the object in his hand.  
  
"Now—" Zayn takes a deep breath. "There's going to be a ten minute window between the flash bang and the rest of the backup coming in... In those ten minutes, I want you gone."  
  
Niall stops himself from taking any more breaths, slowly shifting his eyes right at Zayn—his focus is around the corner.  
  
"Zayn, you have no authority whatsoever over me." Niall turns his whole body to Zayn. "I've worked alone for nine years, not needing anyone out in assignments with me. This—doesn't mean we've suddenly partnered just because we've worked out some of our differences." He lifts an eyebrow, threatening Zayn. If he utters a goddamned word through his lips, those will be the last. "But I still mean what I said earlier. If we make it out alive, I'll see to it that I am gone." Niall finishes, leaning his body back on the wall, his eyebrows pushed in together.  
  
"Niall, I don't want you to leave. I never thought you fucked up or anything like that." Zayn huffs, glaring at Niall. "Are you listening?"  
  
"Zayn, I don't care." Niall looks down. "We can never talk things through. We always fight, and there's always something that triggers one of us to want to kill each other. Clearly, I can't kill you so I'll leave if it means none of this ever happens again."  
  
"Think it through." Zayn hisses. "Please, I don't want any of us to leave each other just when things are okay again."  
  
"Z-Zayn, stop." Niall sighs. "I'm not talking about this anymore."  
  
He's furious; he won't forgive Zayn for that kind of plan—and he certainly won't forgive him for the things he's done to make himself think he's fucked up and not a good husband. He won't forget such a thing to come out of his mouth.  
  
Once Niall tosses the flash bang—everything happens quick. With only one chance at this, they tried their best to aim at their heads while they fired their guns impaired, using one bullet for the six beasts. But that's Zayn and his precision aim with the gun. Niall's more hands on—hands placed quickly where they need to be for Niall to snap their heads off and lunge to the next person who's trying to figure themselves out in their disorientation.  
  
"Duck," Niall breathes out, not waiting a moment to whip his knife behind Zayn. Square in the eye—they knock down and Zayn's standing back up with a pain in his face.  
  
"What's—" Niall asks quietly.  
  
He suddenly registers it himself when he sees the glisten of blood—his arm grazed by a bullet from the idiot firing blind. The blood treads down his arm, right to his knuckles. Niall is waiting for a word from him but he reloads his gun instead and pockets it back in his holster.  
  
"Zayn," Niall whispers, dropping his gun to put a hand over his wound—not exceeding any pressure over it.  
  
"It's a scratch, Niall." Zayn mutters, frowning at the sight of his blood all over Niall's palm, gripping the keys in his hands he snatched off a dead body. "We can't wait. There's eight minutes until reinforcements arrive. Look for the keys in one of their pockets and we'll take one of their jeeps."  
  
Niall blinks, but he's right. He shakes his head, patting the fallen bodies around them. He can't help but look up every few seconds—watching the blood running down his arm. Once he feels the hard edges in the pocket, he sticks his hand in—keys shaking as he brings it up.  
  
"Z-Zayn," Niall puts a hand on his shoulder, pulling him away from their closet. "Clean up."  
  
He doesn't utter a word of thanks but goes off to the washroom, hearing the water running immediately.  
  
His breathing is shallow as he pulls out a bundle of clothes on hangers—dropping them all in the bags. Not realizing that he's crying, he bites his lips from making any sound to arouse Zayn from cleaning his wounds.  
  
Anticipation already brought him to conjure up passports with their false identification. He scans Zayn's passport down—oh, how naïve he was to Zayn's affairs. It was in case Niall involved Zayn in his missions, preparing the both of them for the worst. Like now. But had he not fixed everything with him, he would've burned Zayn’s.  
  
With his new attire—black short-sleeve and jeans that are nearly as tight as his skin; they're black too and even his shoes. He has time to fix his hair as well—bangs gelled up and swept up to the side. For someone who looks like they're going on a vacation, he really looks like he doesn't want to take it at all. And he can't imagine why he wouldn't want to.  
  
He brings Zayn's clothes to the washroom, only to find him applying the bandages himself.  
  
"C'mere," Niall places his clothes over the corner of the sink. Once the roll of bandage is in his hands, Zayn drops his arm back to his side. But waiting for Niall to get his wound all wrapped up, he's edgy.  
  
"Five minutes." Zayn mutters, rubbing his nape. "We're running out of places to hide."  
  
"They can wait," Niall looks Zayn right in his eyes, still rolling the appendages around his shoulder arm.  
  
"Have you got a plan?" He quirks his eyebrows.  
  
Niall rolls his eyes, taping the bandages to stick on. "There are two jeeps outside—you take one, I take one. They'll be tailing me down left and right—eyes in the air as well. Believe me when I say my death is more important than yours to them."  
  
"Of course." Zayn agrees hesitantly. "But why can't I protect you from all those things? Why can't we do this together?"  
  
Niall doesn't answer, "In any way you can, rid yourself from their grid." Niall fixes the strap of his bag. "And we can't be together... It arouses more conflict."  
  
"How long?" Zayn dresses himself in a white long sleeve, fixing his shirt before he can unfold his jeans.  
  
"I-I don't know." Niall says indifferent. "My company is not kidding. A year is at its safest even."  
  
Zayn takes a deep breath, buttoning his jeans together. "Is that all you've got us doing under these five minutes?"  
  
Niall doesn't want to nod but he does, handing Zayn his duffel bag before taking Zayn's shoulders in his hands—cautious with the shoulder that was grazed. He's pushing their mouths against each other, lips upon each other like how they first met.  
  
"I'm sorry." Niall pulls back, voice cracked, tears coming out of his eyes. "I could've been better."  
  
"Niall!" Zayn huffs in frustration as Niall storms off. The last thing he hears is the door close on him.

 

-

 

And it's all Zayn is thinking about—their lips being together, their tongues frantic over one another. There's one hand on the wheel, the other one is touching his bottom lip as he's looking through his rear-view mirror. Nothing. The road is empty. Nothing but a few cars down the horizon and it's not a jeep. There's a big distance between him and Niall. God knows where he is and if he's alive.  
  
He puts his hand back on the wheel before he's changing to the third gear with the other.  
  
Zayn can't recall when he actually began working under an agency that specializes in heists and assassinations. He never thought such a thing existed. But in their world, it's stupid not to have thought that in the first place.  
  
He doesn't want to remember any of it at all. It's stupid to try and remember the things that led to people's death. It's even stupider to have stayed all this time and accept the idea of actually killing Niall. If he did—he can't imagine life without him.  
  
They were in Rio—a vacation they wanted to take for quite some time (or, Zayn had a contract there that he needed to complete for the $100,000 bonus). For a week, he was constantly keeping himself from Niall through the day, finding Intel and tracking this drug lord this particular gang wants dead, willing enough to pay $300,000 for his head. In the night, he'd come exhausted and find Niall already asleep, his body reflecting the moonlight that's shining through the balcony. Then he'd climb in bed, and nothing else.  
  
The vacation almost seemed like a mockery.  
  
Well, it was. The time to relax really meant Zayn was going to work his ass off while Niall explored Rio himself.  
  
He didn't think of committing right then there when it's been a year since they've met. But he threatened Zayn he was going to be leaving, and when he comes back home to their apartment, it would be like he was never there.  
  
That—that couldn't happen.  
  
He gave the 400k up. Pay him all the money in the world but giving Niall up is priceless.  
  
And everything he did was to keep him from leaving. But that was wrong.  
  
Niall has always been in love with Zayn. Nothing about him is wrong. It's only differences they've found from one another that they never tried to work out. And deep down, Niall always knew Zayn working (or actually, on a killing spree) was for him. Truth be told, Niall just wants to get out of this and start a life with Zayn where they're not hiding things from each other.  
  
Or trying not to get killed.  
  
There's an inn, though it's more like a three-star hotel Zayn finds himself in. He's driven for three hours, nearly feeling like forever. The place he's only able to arrive to is Genoa, Italy. Going farther was the point but he couldn't—not with Niall stirring in his mind.  
  
Things are complicated—he's using wads of cash as payment, his fake name, and the passport he made for himself in case something were to drive him out of the country. He had his other passport that Niall made for him—but it doesn't match his credit card at all. He should be used to all the lying now. Yet, in the prospect of things, he hasn't and never will.  
  
He might be the one to blame for all the things that's happened.  
  
See, Zayn knows Niall wouldn't want to keep living through this lifestyle where they're fighting and keeping secrets to stay alive. It isn't right for any one of them so he had his company Asteria to enter into Cyprus—which is Niall's company—and erase any kind of records they've got on him and a couple of people useful to Asteria as well. He couldn't include himself, knowing how suspicious it would be. They'd immediately know Zayn's the one in charge of the whole thing. And they think it's Niall's fault that this whole thing is going on. That's not what Zayn wanted at all.  
  
"Adam!" Zayn exhales in a rush. He hasn't really recovered from the whole thing. Yet, he's risking his life calling up his assistant.  
  
"How the fuck did you end up in Italy?" He asks. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Adam," Zayn says again. "You need to stop the whole operation. They think Niall's responsible for the breach."  
  
"You gave us his account to enter into Cyprus' system, Zayn." Adam replies.  
  
"I know!" His voice raises. "I wasn't thinking. I-I just wanted him out." Zayn holds his nape. "Adam, you have to get him out. They're gonna kill him."  
  
"It says he's still back at the house. And so are you?"  
  
"No! The rings were bugged." Zayn sighs. "I think Cyprus knew about us, but we didn't."  
  
"Then I can't help him." Adam sighs. "I don't know where he is. He might be dead by now."  
  
"No, he's not!" Zayn huffs again, lips tightening together. "He knows what he's doing."  
  
"The team that's after Niall is a private security hired by powerful people—maybe such as the CEO of Cyprus?" Adam inquires. "They're stacked. Like military arms stacked. Nothing we have, and maybe Cyprus as well. I mean, it's highly likely that Cyprus owns them too."  
  
"Adam, I'm not asking." Zayn grips the chair. "I know who they are, so get Niall the fuck out of their grid, or so god help me I will turn everything around."  
  
"For once, you sound stupid."  
  
"I've always been stupid."  
  
It's only a matter of time that they find Zayn three hours in proximity of Nice. And the only place he could only think of to runaway to is—  
  
"Costa Rica," Niall says one day. And this was in Brazil. Early in the morning, they were already awake. They shouldn't be but Zayn is for his assignment. "Should be our next trip."  
  
Zayn smiled as he slipped his arms through his dress shirt. "Whatever you like."  
  
"Whatever I like?" Niall hummed, turned his body to lie on his back. His arms bent backwards and he tucked his hands behind his head. "I'd like for you to stop disappearing on me."  
  
Zayn didn't expect to hear that so bluntly. "It's just things are bothering me, and I don't want you to be caught up in it."  
  
"Then why are you letting it bother you?" Niall asked him, raised himself from his bed. "Why does it even matter?"  
  
"I-I don't know." Zayn sighed. He can't even tell him that he's out to do his job when he told Niall they were here for vacation.  
  
"Come on." Niall cooed as he peeled the blanket off Zayn's side of the bed. "You said whatever I like. And I'd like to spend the rest of our days in Rio together. Then I'll leave you alone, and you can go back and do whatever you like."  
  
"Wait, leave me alone?" Zayn tilted his head in confusion, and his knee settled at the edge of the bed.  
  
"Time apart, you know?" Niall shrugged. "Since you're busy with some things."  
  
"I'm sorry," Zayn exhaled, tucking himself in right beside Niall. His hand settles on Niall's face so he could turn him and get a look of what Niall's really trying to say. "I don't want time apart. I always want you to be around."  
  
"I want you around as well." Niall held Zayn's hand on his face, moved it off before he could close their face together, lips pressed against each other.  
  
That was six years ago. What does Costa Rica mean to them anymore? Because the last time Costa Rica meant anything, Zayn knew Niall was around.

-

  
He's starting to get himself back—his breathing, his senses. His mind is struck with so many things all at once; maybe he and Niall should've lived here in Costa Rica the first place.  
  
It took him about two months to settle. He stays quiet in close quarters of his apartment. With all his money, he can't even afford to bring himself to the better accommodations without dragging any attention back to himself. The ceiling fan creaks and the walls are thin. But at least he's got the view of the mountain and beach.  
  
His wounds took even longer to heal—especially the shot in his leg and arm. The shot at the leg hurts the most because he can't think of anyone else but Niall who's the one who shot him there. Everywhere else, it is a subsiding pain.  
  
He hasn't heard from him and he knows he's not supposed to. Because in all honesty, he might just actually be dead and he's not trying as hard as he can to psych himself out that he's not. He said six months—it's been a whole year. And nothing. All of his wounds compared to not having any kind of knowledge about Niall to feel relieved shouldn't be incomparable at all. He doesn’t feel anything.  
  
For God sakes, if it wasn't for his stupid plan to drive to separate places and be apart, Zayn would have known where he is, and he would have been fucking alive. He would’ve done anything to keep him alive.

 

-

  
  
Zayn tries to forget about it. Especially when Niall had intentions of leaving him in the first place. And the rumours about a funeral from his parents. Even so, they think Zayn is dead as well for not coming. There were pictures of them both. With nothing to do, it's harder than anything he has done before. He can't forget so easily. He did go to Costa Rica after all.  
  
The idea started to slip from their minds as their relationship drifted. It stuck in his mind, and it's now lost in Niall's.  
  
Ultimately because he's dead.  
  
Time is passing by him like birds in the sky. He doesn't like to get out of bed, and from time to time, he's crying to himself. He can't even talk to anyone. One, he can't speak Spanish—that was supposed to be Niall. When he wants to speak to someone, he has to break it down with charades. So much for a world-wide assassin. Two, if he calls his family—there's no doubt someone is going to be tracing his call.  
  
He's left in a blank.  
  
The sunshine flows into his room, the church bell is tolling, and he can't help but take in the warm air. It's relieving, remembering their home back in Nice. There was sunlight and soft wind, sure—though it was suffocating and wasted on the exterior walls of their house. The windows were never open, neither were the curtains. Maybe a few inches because one of them would be peeking through for a view.  
  
Although, Zayn can't get up at all. He's drained. Or he's not trying at all.  
  
The blanket is draped around his hip. He shifts his legs off to the edge of the bed, still keeping over. This is the most he's done besides get up for food and the washroom.  
  
It falls to the floor and he doesn't bother to bend down for it. His arms stretch back, hearing the crack from his shoulders before he can regain his senses. The fan is creaking over him, causing him to feel uneasy—not to mention his neighbours who're yelling through the walls. Was this how Niall was at home when he wasn't there—all tense and aggravated?  
  
The idea of taking a walk seems like a good idea. Something was telling him to go. It's like a touch on the back of his neck and every time he'd turn, his eyes will eventually lead back to the balcony.  
  
It feels great to be out, and it's not because his place is starting to go without food. Which reminds him, the opportunity to visit the local markets would be a good idea. Since he's already out.  
  
In one hand, he's holding coconut water. His other hand is on his nape, fingers rubbing over his skin. The sun is merciless after all—his skin is burning from the heat.  
  
The market vendors are loud, nothing Zayn can't handle. In fact, it appeases him. Compared to France, there are more mangoes, papayas, and even rambutens displayed for purchase—twice as cheap and fresh. But it's mostly seafood that's laid out and under the shade. Their colours are still vibrant—scales even intact that it seems like they never fished it out at all. Zayn could swear one of them was still twitching. And fuck, does it reek. From above, there are birds waiting for their taking. There was one bird that was able to take the thrown out part of the fish before the locals went and scared it off. Still, the rest are just waiting alone the edges of the building and the power lines.  
  
Niall would've loved the simplicity of this place.  
  
And yet—  
  
Zayn breathes his name out in shock, leaving his mouth open. He winces at the balcony where the man is hanging a shirt up to dry. He hasn't seen a person with blond dyed tips with darkened roots on the side but he himself. No, it couldn't. He can't be here. The sun is playing with him. He needs more coconut water.  
  
He's fake. It's not him. Yet, nothing is stopping from Zayn to walk even faster, dodging the people in his way. Zayn swallows the anxiety down, looking down the street before he can look back up to the balcony.  
  
Back and forth, down the street and up to the sky, Zayn watches intently, wishing for him not to disappear. There are five floors—he's at the highest.  
  
But he's dead. It's been a whole entire year! Plus, it's humid around him. He hasn't replenished himself quite well. It was only coconut water. One coconut water can't fight the heavy and hot temperature of the south.  
  
Zayn doesn't stop. He's sprinting, brushing people's shoulders, turning himself to his side as he passes a tight space between the mass of people flooding the market.  
  
Oh god, he's gone. _Faster_.  
  
He stays his balance, almost knocking himself forward against this lady leaving the building. His breathing is erratic—everything in him is trembling. His fingers when he presses the elevator button, and his whole body is shaking in nervosa.  
  
The door opens. It's someone blonde.  
  
Zayn's at a standstill.  
  
It's not him.  
  
Wasted breath.  
  
Why did he think he was alive? It's been a year. It's not like Niall would be here at the exact same time. Even if he was alive, Zayn can't handle the fact that Niall wanted to leave him. This was a good opportunity to leave anyway. This whole year apart—god knows who's doing what.  
  
Zayn chokes out a sob. He can't get out of it. Everything about everywhere reminds him of Niall that he's running after people with blond hair. This is so fucking stupid anyway. He's gone.  
  
Zayn looks up from the floor when the second elevator rings. He turns aside, blocking his mouth from gasping any more. Yet, all of the sudden he's knocked forward before he's caught to keep his stance. He turns, his eyes red and puffed. He grimaces because he feels like utter shit for crying.  
  
Until—it's at the same blue eyes, gleaming like a deer before being struck—he can't forget.  
  
Niall exhales his name halfway before he's being cut off with Zayn's mouth against him. His fingers press back over his floor before his body is slammed against the elevator walls. Zayn's never pressed so hard before. His hands have never held Niall's face so tight that his fingertips are leaving a pale imprint on his flushed cheeks. Niall has never tried to grip harder on anything that made his knuckles hurt but Zayn's shirt.  
  
Niall's tilting his head to a complete angle that Zayn's tongue is right inside of his mouth before Niall is pulling Zayn harder against him with his hands cupping his jaw. There's the taste of Zayn's tears between them. Yet, Niall's pushing his mouth harder than ever.  
  
"Zayn," Niall gasps, his lips closing back over Zayn's before they're pulling apart with their foreheads resting over one another. The flat surface of his forefinger starts to softly caress against his cheekbones.  
  
It's a quick break before Zayn's knocking his mouth back over Niall, slower yet much more force in between that their mouths are loud.  
  
Niall's apartment is much hotter than Zayn's—probably because the sun is facing right exactly in front of his balcony. His bed as well is getting plenty of the heat and it's the worst. Their limbs are tangled with one another, exposed to each other bare where Zayn's fingers are pressed against Niall's flesh. Sweat is covering inches of their body, and Zayn finds no matter in this when his lips press on his hips and right in his groin. Back to his abdomen, his hands splay over Niall's chest—feeling him heave under him, compelling him to go past his limit. His hand slides easy up Niall's chest, the salt of the beach mixed with his sweat is between his lips as he moves up Niall's body.  
  
When his hands rest on his neck, Zayn is finally back on his mouth—body grinding over his as Niall's breathing deepens against him. He can't even hold himself not to wrap his legs around Zayn—have him pressed against him like this forever.  
  
He listens to Zayn grunting. Niall himself is having his little noises as well. Not to mention the way Zayn's mouth is agape and exhaling over his, it's rousing him. Niall wants to close his mouth over but the proximity and being able to be this close again is way better.  
  
He feels full of the sudden—gasping as Zayn enters through him. It hurts a lot but Niall's dealt with more pain than Zayn's dick going inside him with barely any lube. And he's not going to wait another minute not to have this happen.  
  
_Fuck._  
  
It's so warm and he hasn't felt this young in forever because he's intensely restless—wrapping his arm around Zayn's neck while his other arm hugged his waist. The way Zayn's spoiling him all of the sudden with so many kisses and touches over his body, he's wondering why this stopped for four years—why Zayn took it upon himself to relieve his own dick when Niall was there so happy to do it.  
  
He doesn't know, and he doesn't care because Zayn's moving slowly—carefully rotating his hips. Whatever. Niall doesn't care how fast or slow Zayn's moving, he wants to be close to him and that's all that matters.  
  
Except, "why didn't you stay away?" Niall grunts, his fingers pressing on the flesh of Zayn's bum. "Why'd you have to come looking for me like that?"  
  
"I thought you were dead, I didn't hear anything for so long. I-I thought you really left me. A-and then I saw you, I just had to know it's you." Zayn exhales his reason and a smile grows on his face. "Oh, Niall—I miss you so much."  
  
"For a while—" Niall gasps, pressing down harder on Zayn. He loses his words when Zayn finds his pace. Eventually, Niall's rocking against Zayn and the bed, ruining the sheets under his skin and evoking the nastiest sounds between the friction of their skin that neither of them have heard for a long time.  
  
Niall starts to beg, sluggishly repeating faster, faster. Fuck yes, Zayn thinks and quickly works on the wanted pace until he's thinking of something else—much more of a treat to him than it is to Niall, really.  
  
Free from Niall's contortion, Zayn sits on his knees, shoulder length apart. He tells Niall to hold himself up with his elbows and raise his hips up above the bed. From there—still between Niall's legs that are much wider this time and resting above his thighs, he's holding his hips, thrusting and bucking himself in with much more allowable room.  
  
Niall knows his legs and elbows are going to give in at any moment. But this—this is so fucking good. Yes, yes—that's it. He closes his eyes, letting his head fall back. God, he wished they did this every day.  
  
"Go on," Zayn grumbles, much too focused on his dick thrusting inside Niall, and Niall's dick as well—obscenely flopping over against him pushing. He's watching two things, and make it three—when he looks at the muscles leading into his groin. And listening to plenty of things like their breathing and the squelch of his dick thrusting in and out.  
  
"I-I had to be. They wouldn't stop the chase until I died—so I-I blew up the jeep and jumped out before." Niall huffs, pursing his lips for a few seconds before he's biting them off. "Wanted to run away—leave it all behind—couldn't—couldn't keep going."  
  
Niall explodes in a long and abrupt moan that his head leans farther back, the muscles of his neck are exposed so are his collarbones. They're more prominent.  
  
"N-no more questions," Niall shudders. His face twists too. "I have missed you so fucking much—oh—" Niall grunts, holding himself up with only one elbow.  
  
"Not yet," Zayn coos, pulling his cock out and setting Niall's body to rest.  
  
He straddles his knees on either side of his hip, grinding his dick against Niall's—his hand holding the two together.  
  
"Not so fast but you're the one trying this shit—" Niall laughs breathlessly, wiping his face from sweat.  
  
"It's been five years—and the last one didn't count." Zayn moans out, tilting his head to the left as he fists their head together. "And you like this—I know you do."  
  
"No, no—you're mistaken." Niall grins, eyes lidded lowly. "I love it when I see you—like now. Come here," Niall curls his fingers back and forth to Zayn.  
  
Zayn ducks down, his ass prodding up as his mouth is licked by Niall's tongue. Zayn runs his tongue over as well, and in between, their saliva's mixing together. There's a web of it that appears when Zayn pulls apart and quickly breaks when he shifts off of Niall to lay beside him, seeing his back.  
  
Zayn brings Niall's legs over to the other side of Zayn's body. Niall's fisting his dick in desperation and finally lets go when Zayn slides his cock back in. Shit—he hasn't been fucked sideways since—Paris—their first time. Wow, that's been ages.  
  
"Oh my god." Niall whines, tilting his head back. "Zayn—" he exhales shakily when Zayn brings his fist over Niall's dick.  
  
"Ohhh fuck." Zayn runs a fat strip over Niall's neck with his tongue and flicks it off when he pulls off. His thrusting quickens and so does Niall's moaning, but it's very faint.  
  
His body tightens against Zayn when he comes. There are tears prickling his eyes when he does. Zayn hears more of a cry than a moan or whine—something tells him Niall's been holding in for a while now. His hand is covered in Niall's cum until he's caressing Niall's thigh that's crossed over his body then takes Niall's balls in his hands, squeezing them accordingly.  
  
"No, no—" Niall sputters when Zayn starts to pull his cock out.  
  
"That feels good?" Zayn says unsure. "Last time I did that you stopped everything." Last time—five years ago?  
  
"I am so fucking needy right now." Niall swivels his hips back down Zayn's cock. Having no sex for five years does something to a person—like Niall accumulating this thing for having cum up his ass. It's no bother to Zayn—he's just surprised.  
  
Eventually, Zayn comes as well—gasping as he felt his cock stiffen and tighten. Meanwhile, Niall's whimpering and breathing erratically. He expected something out of being filled—but not to the point his chest is heaving so fast and deep when Zayn slowly thrusts his cum in. Niall should probably like that.  
  
Niall rolls off, a mess over his sheets with his body splayed obscenely over his bed. He can't even tease Zayn back when Zayn's hands are kneading his ass cheeks, separating them like he's about to begin round two.  
  
"First of all," Zayn shifts up that his head is on Niall's pillow, his fingers nonchalantly curling around his cock again. "You _died_." Or supposed he did. Zayn is still not over it.  
  
"I told you, I faked it." Niall replies lethargic. "I can't just disappear. People will still know I'm out there. If I'm dead—they'll leave me alone. As for you..."  
  
"But why Cost Rica?" Zayn lifts his legs, bending them upright.  
  
"Something told me I was gonna see you here at some point." Niall laughs quietly.  
  
"It's been a year. I thought you really left." Zayn's face softens.  
  
"I thought about it, but I knew I’d be leaving something great for something stupid." Niall snuggles his face into his pillow.  
  
Zayn stays quiet for a while, watching his surroundings. This apartment is nearly no different than his either. Shit fan, and thin walls—someone must've probably heard them.  
  
"So I won't have to worry about you killing me in the night?"  
  
"What?" Niall lifts his face from his pillow.  
  
"I'm asking you," Zayn turns onto his side. "I won't have to worry about you sticking a knife on my thigh or sticking up a gun at me?" Zayn laughs, suddenly straddling over Niall who's resting helplessly on his stomach.  
  
"Is this, like—us renewing our vows?" Niall tries to look over his shoulder. "Because I can say the same—especially to you. You blew my boat up!"  
  
"I missed. You shot me twice and slashed my damn shoulders!"  
  
" _I_ missed! And I was just trying to prove a point, honestly." Niall lifts his arms up in defence. "Or are you gonna drug me into telling you the truth?"  
  
"No," Zayn hums, kneading the base of his palm down Niall's back. "Maybe drag it out of you in round two." Zayn leans down by his ear, holding both Niall's shoulders with his thumb pressed down on his skin. "But not now."  
  
"Not now?" Niall frowns.  
  
"Oh," Zayn breathes out as he raises his eyebrows. "We have all day."  
  
Niall's lip twitches. "What if something happens like before—"  
  
Zayn kneading his thumb on Niall's back, he snuggles his face against his head. Oh before... Not again. They can both agree what had happen throughout their married life was not the best. Zayn's absence at home, Niall's anger erupting between them. Looking back, Niall regrets everything he's done to ruin their bond. It's been a very long time since things started to fall apart that no one remembers who or where or what started it all. No one wants to.  
  
"No," Zayn grumbles, shaking his head. His stubble is rough against Niall. "Not again. Let's not have that happen. I know for sure I love you and you love me. I won't have it."  
  
Zayn sits back up before lifting himself off from Niall's back. He strides to the washroom to clean himself up—hands and his cock from cum then washes his face. His legs are sore. Surprised he can even walk around with his knees feeling like jelly.  
  
When he heads back out, he finds Niall closing the balcony doors and it's suddenly dark around them. The heat is still there though.  
  
"Is it difficult?" Niall asks quietly, slowly walking back to the bed.  
  
"What is?"  
  
"Me and you." Niall sits at the edge. "I haven't... Forgotten what we said… To each other."  
  
Zayn exhales when he inches behind Niall. His two hands slip over Niall's sides, caressing up and down before he can rest his chin over his shoulder just at the crook of his neck. Zayn isn't stupid. He knows what Niall's getting at and truth be told, he can't believe he actually said those things to him.  
  
"No," Zayn says carefully, grimacing when Niall makes a sudden move. "I wasn't thinking. Just stupid things coming out my mouth because I wanted you to come run away with me so bad—and I thought it was okay to tease you on the curtains. I didn't think it had any meaning by it. And I am sorry. I know it's what you wanna hear. I did fuck up."  
  
"We're here now, at least." Niall grins tightly. "Just like what we always wanted."  
  
Zayn smiles when he presses his lips down on Niall's neck, leaving a wet tinge over his neck. It's a few, but it sets off something within Niall to turn his head to the side and press his lips over Zayn's.  
  
"Let's get married again." Niall exhales between a short parting. "Do everything right from the start."  
  
"This won't be for your job again?" Zayn asks, wrapping his arms around Niall's neck.  
  
"They destroyed my home and almost killed you," Niall scoffs. "I'm not going back."  
  
The probability of them going back to France is highly unlikely, knowing how they found themselves being hunted by private military and security.  
  
Costa Rica has been waiting anyways. France has its own thing, but this place has its own world. It's considered the happiest place on earth for its lack of awful weather. The sun shines 315 days a year. That's more than anyone gets in Nice and no one is trying to kill them. No one is killing either.  
  
At least without any knives and guns.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: So this is a Mr. & Mrs. Smith AU! but Ziall, hehe. Credit to the movie for helping me with espionage/bad marriage moments because I honestly had none but obviously, the movie would have it because I based the AU off of it... Lol
> 
> Again, I apologize for the French. I took French for like 5 years but it all drained out of me. I'm so sorry, especially to French readers who obviously know how garbage my attempt was.
> 
> For readers who don't understand, I put words that look exactly alike in English so you can guess it. But here are some translations (referring to some parts of the story, may not be correct, sorry!):
> 
> Voyons donc - come on  
> Salope - Bitch  
> Retard ce soir - late tonight  
> Allons là-bas - Let's go there.  
> Coucher avec mon mari en quatre ans - Slept with mine in four years  
> Ce n'est rien - That's nothing  
> Maquereau - Mackerel  
> En bas - downstairs  
> Pris rien aujourd'hui - Caught anything today? (wrongly translated tbh)  
> Vous êtes en vivant, oui? Puis taire - You are alive, yes? Then be quiet  
> Je ne te crois pas - I don't believe you


End file.
